


Ashes

by granaattiomena



Category: Tennis RPF
Genre: Angst, Cheating, Denial, Hate Sex, M/M, Old Friends to Enemies, One-Sided Attraction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-22
Updated: 2020-01-20
Packaged: 2021-02-17 22:17:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 22,313
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21517348
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/granaattiomena/pseuds/granaattiomena
Summary: "Next time you go looking for a fucking fight," Daniil spoke, lowly and seriously. "Don't come to me, you brat."~'can you use these tears to put out the fires in my soul?'
Relationships: Daniil Medvedev/Stefanos Tsitsipas
Comments: 18
Kudos: 97





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> been working on this for a little while, they're a guilty pleasure ship of mine, i won't deny it
> 
> hope all of you enjoy it

"Hey Stefanos, you want to look at me and talk?" 

That was the last straw, Daniil stopped caring how old this kid was by then. 

Stefanos didn't look at him again, opting instead to get his things together and walk away. 

The umpire stood in front of Daniil which kept him from getting his hands on him.

Had he been able to grab him, Stef wouldn't have known what hit him.

Daniil narrowed his eyes in the Greek's direction as he walked off the court.

Bullshit Russian.

_Ironic coming from him._

Emergency bathroom break, hitting that stupid let and refusing to apologise. 

Then that. 

No, Stef knew better than to cross him again, surely. 

A small kid who can't fight, that's what he was. 

There wouldn't have been an issue if Stefanos had simply shut up. 

Daniil delayed getting his bag as he ranted to the obviously uninterested umpire, insisting if it was a fight that he wanted then he should've just said so.

Though Renaud Lichtenstein seemed hesitant to let him go to the locker room so soon, he was under the impression that Daniil wasn't going to do anything. 

The Russian slung his bag over his shoulder, tossed his towels into the stands before going off the court.

Only a short walk before the cold interior and neatly lined up lockers met his eyes.

After a few steps, he also spotted Stefanos- or rather, his back.

He was changing his shirt when Daniil dropped his bag on the floor, approaching him without hesitation.

Stef looked over his shoulder, having heard someone approaching. His eyebrows furrowed ever so slightly before he turned away again.

Daniil grabbed him by the shoulder and pushed him back against the locker.

The metal against his bare skin made him shiver slightly. 

He'd trapped him, just like that, now looming over him.

"Next time you go looking for a fucking fight," Daniil spoke, lowly and seriously. "Don't come to me, you brat."

Stef didn't respond, barely even looking threatened; let alone interested.

When the Russian didn't let go, Stef did it for him as he pushed him off before quickly pulling on his t-shirt. 

Daniil let him walk past, not getting in his way.

Under his breath, Stef was swearing in Greek but Daniil let it go.

It wasn't a good look to get into a fight with a kid. 

He watched him disappear around the corner. 

~~

'What's your opinion on Tsitsipas, Daniil?'

It was annoying the first time.

It was annoying the second, third, fourth, fifth and sixth time.

Now, Daniil had lost track of how many times journalists asked him that very question.

Daria suffered his persistent complaining whenever a poor journalist dared to even think about asking him that, it infuriated him each time.

They sat in the back of the car together, going back to the hotel.

"What am I supposed to say to that? That I hate him? Is that what they're wanting?" Daniil asked out loud, though it was mostly rhetorical. "That kid doesn't even cross my mind."

"I know he bothers you, Dani," She responded with a hand on his arm. "They're just trying to start drama, you know that."

Her engagement ring caught the sunlight that leaked in from the car window, it reflected directly into Daniil's face.

"I just don't even know what to say anymore, every time they talk about him or bring him up." His words trailed off as he let out a groan. "I don't want to think about him, at all. Bad enough I see him in the hallways." 

"Well, you're going to have to think about him some time or another," Daria pointed out. "You're going to end up playing him eventually." 

Daniil frowned at that, because she was completely right. He didn't want to think about that. "Don't remind me." 

"Maybe it was just a bad first impression, he isn't a young as he was when you saw him last." 

"Just because I knew him when we were kids doesn't mean anything, if that's what you're implying."

"Not implying, I'm telling you to just give him a chance. He might surprise you." 

Daniil couldn't stifle a scoff. "Positive, positive. I don't get how you do it." 

He shook his head as he leaned over to press a kiss to her cheek. 

"I'm positive so you don't have to be." Daria laughed as she moved to rest her head on his shoulder. "Though, it doesn't hurt to be more positive, you know."

A short hum of acknowledgement followed as he closed his eyes.

~~

Karen had walked off to the locker room by the time Daniil made it to the players' lounge, wishing his friend good luck in his upcoming match.

Daniil was only there to pick up the jacket he'd mistakenly left behind. 

The woman managing the lost and found wasn't very organised; surprisingly, tennis players weren't particularly good at keeping hold of their belongings. 

He stood in front of the desk, arms folded over his chest as he looked around. 

Of around six people in the room, Daniil knew approximately no one. 

All he wanted was to get his jacket, get something to eat and leave. 

Simple, easy, quick.

That was just too easy.

The woman at the desk reappeared to tell him she'd be a few more minutes. 

Daniil didn't get annoyed, he nodded his head and continued to wait.

It was relatively quiet, so his eyes focused outside to the sunlit pavement and green grass.

After a few moments, a voice drew him out of his zoned out headspace. 

Stefanos. 

He was with some guy that Daniil hadn't seen before and they were talking. 

The Greek didn't notice him immediately, being too caught up in his conversation. 

Until he saw Wes look over at the Russian and Stef glanced at him. 

Any emotion present in his face before disappeared in an instant. 

Their eyes locked momentarily, Stef's narrowing ever so slightly before he turned away again. 

"You know him?" Wes asked, curious since he'd taken note of the change in demeanour right away. 

Stefanos shook his head. "No." 

Daniil could hear them. It took a lot of willpower to not laugh and call him out right in front of his friend. 

Somehow, he refrained. 

The woman came back with his jacket in hand.

"Sorry for the wait, Mister Medvedev." She spoke as she handed it over. 

"It's no trouble, thank you." 

Slinging it over his shoulder, he stole one more glance over at Stef as he began to leave.

Stef also took a double take. 

There was more flare in his amber eyes the second time around, and it caused a slightly impish smirk to form on his lips. 

_Someone isn't being very friendly._

~~

The most Daniil had seen of Stef's match against Robredo was when he screamed at someone in the crowd to _'shut the fuck up'_. 

Temperamental didn't begin to describe how he'd been acting.

It was no wonder the match went so well for Daniil- until set three.

He felt a bit bored with it all up until that point. 

To spice things up a bit, Daniil lost the third set. 

The crowd loved it. 

Stefanos loved it.

Daniil was enjoying himself, he loved it as well.

Loved that Stef didn't have a single clue what was coming.

There was no way to wipe the smirk that had formed on Daniil's lips. 

He looked at Stef's face, seeing the hopefulness that had flooded his features once again. 

The predatory side of Daniil began to take over, an ever-growing desire to see every last trace of that hope drain from the Greek's eyes.

Imagining how Stefanos looked when he was broken down only served to motivate him that much more. 

There was no wanting now.

He had to see it for himself. 

When the ball flew off of the stringbed, he knew that the match was over.

Stefanos challenged, became irritated with the umpire before their hands met in the briefest of handshakes.

A half-hearted and not very genuine 'good job' fell past his lips before he got his bag, leaving without even looking at Daniil again.

The Russian didn't expect anything grand, the few words exchanged had surprised him enough as it was. He wanted to follow, however. 

After a short celebration and signing a few autographs for some very happy kids, Daniil found himself in the locker room. 

Every obnoxious, orange locker seemed to coldly shine under the fluorescent lights. Daniil walked down each lettered row, being met with empty benches and discarded towels. Until he looked around the corner of row B and saw Stefanos, a demolished racquet a few feet away; which had clearly been thrown off to the side.

His face was obscured by his towel. 

When Daniil dropped his bag, sending the noise of it hitting the ground across the room; Stef moved the towel away from his face before looking over at the Russian.

This time, his expression didn't change very much; though it appeared as though he were biting something back.

Stefanos got up and shoved his match clothes into his bag without another glance. He swung it over his shoulder before attempting to walk past.

Daniil grabbed his arm.

It became silent, until the older of the two spoke in Russian.

"Good match." 

Whatever Stef had been holding back, it couldn't be contained anymore. He turned to face him, anger flaring in his eyes. 

"Good match? You fucking tank the third set and come to me saying it was a _good_ match?" Stef accusingly retorted before roughly ripping his arm from the man's grasp. "Get fucked, Daniil. You're fucking disgusting." 

Daniil raised an eyebrow at that, though not in a negative way. He was impressed. 

The Greek hadn't stood up for himself like that before.

"Oh, so the ATP's golden boy has some ability to defend himself, then?" Daniil partially laughed. His tone was condescending. "I'm surprised, I'm so used to seeing you let everyone walk all over you." 

"You don't know shit about me." 

Daniil frowned a bit. "That's not true, I know you pretty well." 

Stefanos' eyes narrowed slightly as he turned once again, not wanting to be part of this. Though, the Russian had different ideas.

Taking hold of Stef's wrist, Daniil tugged him back before he had him almost against one of the lockers. 

"I didn't say you could walk off, Stefanos." 

"You're not my dad, you're nothing to me. I don't have to listen to you."

"I'm older, am I not? Doesn't that make me superior?"

"What, you need an ego boost or something?" Stef asked. "Makes sense, since you love bullying people younger and smaller." 

Unlike Stef, Daniil didn't take a single thing to heart. 

From that distance, he could better inspect his face. Each feature, every non-existent flaw, every angle of the young Greek's face felt so familiar. 

Daniil's grip tightened ever so slightly as he tilted his head, leaning over Stef. Only a few centimetres separated them, now.

"Tell me how you feel about me." 

Stefanos unknowingly backed up, feeling his back meeting the chill of the locker behind him. He thickly swallowed with his eyes falling briefly. 

An answer wasn't coming quick enough for his liking and Daniil started to dig his fingers into him. "Tell me." 

"I don't want to." 

His eyebrows were furrowed as he finally looked at Daniil once again. Stef was close enough to see the dotting of freckles along the bridge of his nose. 

"It's not good to not express your emotions." 

"Why do you care-"

Abruptly, Daniil shoved him against the lockers, the Greek letting out a short groan. There was a slight look of helplessness on his face now. 

"You think living your life on a tether is normal? Your parents both have you on a fucking leash and I know you don't think for yourself. I'm getting the impression you just like being told what to do even though you're-"

"I hate you." Stef interjected so quickly that it was almost hard to understand at first. He repeated himself. "I fucking hate you, Daniil." 

Daniil let those words settle in for a moment before flashing him a smirk. "And the truth comes out."

Stef's face had become reddened, visibly flustered at what Daniil had said. It stung because it was true. 

Their noses were nearly touching, Daniil feeling the heat of Stef's quickened breath against his lips. He couldn't help but look down at his slightly parted lips, letting the hand of which had been holding onto him move to press against the Greek's chest. 

His heart was racing.

All Daniil could hear was their breathing, leaning in more as Stef let his eyes close. 

Just before their lips met, Daniil pulled away. 

Stef opened his somewhat dazed amber eyes with confusion written across his features. 

Daniil didn't speak again. He picked up his bag and walked away.

There, Stefanos was left in his wake. 

There, he stood.

Stefanos stared after him, unable to make sense of what had just happened.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter has sexual content ( though you've likely read the tags anyway )  
> hope all of you enjoy x

Daniil wasn't entirely sure if the chill was from the air conditioning installed in Basel or from Stef's cold, hard gaze at him. 

Either way, it had a way of making his skin prickle in slight goosebumps. 

With one hand holding onto his racquet and the other onto a ball, Daniil waited for Stef to get in his return position.

Whether his taking an almost obscene amount of time was intentional or not, it was enough for the Russian to get his first serve in.

Stefanos tried to slice it.

It didn't even manage to make it to the net before it hit the ground. 

Daniil threw his arms up, a grin on his face as he turned to his coach. He flashed a face in his direction before turning back to Stef, who was pulling his headband off.

The contact was for less than a second and the Greek didn't say a single word or even look at him in the eyes. 

It was a bit disappointing, Daniil shook his head slightly as Stefanos walked away.

There one moment, gone the next.

3-0. 

A rather uneven head to head, considering who was ranked higher. 

Daniil didn't rush, didn't try to make it back to the locker room in any amount of time. He knew Stef would wait for him.

He knew Stef better than the younger man realised. 

Much, much better.

The on-court interviews were over, he had a brief chat with Russian TV, signed autographs and finally left the court. 

When he got into the quiet respite of the well organised and clean locker room, he found himself a bit confused. 

Stefanos wasn't there.

Daniil's eyebrows furrowed somewhat as he set his bag down on one of the benches quietly. He walked around, it became obvious that he just wasn't there anymore.

In his head, he was cursing himself. 

Now, Daniil hurried to get his things together, quickly changing and tossing his match clothes into his bag before leaving the room. 

As he passed the lounge, he caught a glimpse of someone sitting on one of the chairs.

He backtracked and peeked in.

Stef had been waiting, just not in the locker room. 

Daniil immediately walked in and closed the door behind him, waiting for Stef to look at him. 

He didn't and the room remained silent for a moment. 

"Again," Stef spoke, his tone neutral but with an underlying hint of anger. "You did it again, Daniil." 

"What did I do?"

"You dropped the second set. You lost the second set when you shouldn't have." 

"Who says I lost it purposefully? Maybe you were just playing well." Daniil seemed to muse briefly. "Or maybe I did. Maybe I wanted to make you feel like you don't suck." 

"Oh, that's generous." The Greek rolled his eyes before he finally turned from his phone to face him. He tucked it away in his jacket pocket before standing. "Do you do these things to fuck with me? To get in my head or something?"

"I really don't know why you'd think that, Stef-"

"Don't. Don't call me that. Why do you keep doing this shit to me, answer me." 

Daniil found himself in the opposite position for once, Stef was the one with him against the door. 

Suddenly, he didn't feel as powerful as he had before. 

It was uncomfortable. 

"Like I said, I don't know what you're talking about." 

Stefanos was frowning with eyes unmoving. Without thinking, he pounded a closed fist into Daniil's chest. 

Now, the Russian could tell that he was shaking.

"I don't know what's wrong with you. I don't know what I ever fucking did to you, Daniil." Stef spoke as forcefully as he could manage, but it didn't come off that way. It sounded almost desperate. "You thrive off of it. You thrive off of people hating you." 

Daniil's head tilted a bit at that, his eyes beginning to narrow. 

"Did I offend you when we spoke last?" 

He knew what he was doing, but it's what he wanted to see.

Stef struck him in the chest again, harder this time, though without a verbal response. 

The corner of the Russian's lips slowly pulled up into a small smirk. Another slightly harder hit followed until Stef couldn't stop.

He kept doing it, swearing in unintelligible Greek until Daniil finally took hold of both of his wrists and turned to pin him against the wall.

Now, they were in the same position they had been in the last two times. 

Daniil looked down at Stefanos, who refused to look at him again. Under his breath, he continued to rant.

Stef didn't care that Daniil couldn't understand.

'I hate you.' 

He'd said that in Russian, making sure Daniil got the message. 

_ I hate you. _

The redness that had flushed his cheeks showed just how upset he was. 

Daniil had him. 

Right in the middle of Stef repeating how he felt towards the elder Russian, Daniil cut him off. 

There, they stood. 

Connected.

Stef froze in place- though it wasn't like he could move, anyway- noticeably tensing up in the man's grasp. It had been so brief at first that neither Stef nor Daniil had really gotten a chance to think about what was happening. 

All Daniil knew was how much better he liked Stef when he was shut up. He was annoying, otherwise.

Quickly, however, it evolved. 

It was ungraceful, open-mouthed, messy and rough. Their teeth knocked together as Daniil leaned in as much as he could, right until their chests were touching.

Even now, Daniil could taste that slightly unpleasant, artificial mixed berry energy gel the Greek had been eating during their match. 

He felt how Stef's heart raced just like the time before. 

Daniil let his grip loosen before the younger man's wrists tugged out of it, planting his hands on the back of his neck.

Stef bit down on Daniil's lip, pulling it slightly. He let out a groan as his fingers tangled in his mess of curly hair and gave it a rough tug. 

The small whimper he got out of the Greek nearly drove him over the edge, now burying his face into his neck before sinking his teeth into his skin.

“Fuck-“ Stef mistakenly let out, another whimper escaping as he dug his nails into the Russian’s neck. “That hurts.”

Daniil chose to ignore that he’d spoken, not willing to let the grip he had on his hair go.

“Tell me how you feel towards me.”

It wasn’t a suggestion, it was a command. His tone was stark and dominant.

As Daniil bit down again, hard enough to leave a mark, an uneven and high-pitched moan fell past Stef’s lips.

“I- I hate you.” 

The Russian let out a short moan, though it was more akin to a hum, in reaction to those words. They sounded so resigned and submissive.

It only proved that Stef was as meek as he’d originally thought.

Daniil pulled away to look at Stefanos, seeing how his lips were slightly reddened and slick. With the way his lower lip caught the shine of one of the lights on the ceiling, Daniil was shocked he didn’t go in for another taste.

Stef’s breathing was now quick and somewhat hollow, trying not to look at the man in the eyes again.

He couldn’t resist it.

They gazed for a moment, Daniil glancing down at the mark he’d left on the younger man’s neck.

That same smirk appeared again.

Still, he hadn’t yet achieved what he wanted to see; but he was going to get it.

“Three seventy two.” Daniil spoke in that same commanding, vaguely devious tone. “You know where to find me.”

~~

_How fucking embarrassing._

Usually, Stef didn't find himself in situations like these. He'd made a point of being a little bit smarter and less naive than that.

Usually.

Though, on a typical day, Stefanos wasn't making out with a person he couldn't stand the very sight of. 

It made him feel horrible, to have such a desire to do that.

Feeling Daniil's tongue against his own, his hands that had held him in place so tightly and firmly. 

No, none of it made sense, but the sensations lingered even hours after.

He was doing what he was told, going up to the room Daniil had designated as his own. 

Room 372.

Stef stood outside of the door, staring at the numbered plate on the well-lacquered wood. 

In his head, he knew what was waiting for him on the other side. 

It wasn't too late to leave.

Without realising, he'd already knocked on the door and sealed his fate. 

He couldn't figure out why he'd been so drawn to Daniil when he'd never felt anything aside from contempt before.

When Stef looked at Daniil when the door opened, it was as though he'd gotten his clarity. 

No hesitation. 

Daniil pulled him in by the arm, closing the door with a slam as they picked up where they'd left off. 

Stef managed to get his trainers off as Daniil unzipped his jacket and got him out of it, trying to find a new taste on the Greek's tongue. 

Their line from the hallway to the bed was uneven and not straight, but it didn't matter once Stef felt the bed underneath his back.

It was a happy change from cold, metal locker doors. 

Daniil hovered over him, feeling Stef bite his lip. The Russian moved his hand down to grab onto his thigh, tightening his grip until the younger man finally let go with a small groan.

"That hurts," Stef whined lowly, shifting under him. "You asshole." 

A flash of a smirk appeared over Daniil's lips, his free hand tangled in Stef's hair.

Without warning, he took a fistful of the curls and pulled his head back, going back to retrace the mark he'd made earlier with his teeth.

It stung, it hurt, but the pain was mixing with morally questionable pleasure and the low moans leaving the Greek's lips were unintentional. Daniil wanted proof of what he'd done, for other people to see it as well. In the fog of his own head, his hips involuntarily shifted forward right against Stef. 

A much higher and louder moan escaped as his head moved back, breathing becoming heavier.

Never had the Russian heard such a pretty moan before, and he had to hear it again. 

Stefanos couldn't think anymore as Daniil moved to grind against him again, gently biting at the shell of his ear. 

Now, Stef was whimpering, choking out the man's name against the fabric of his shirt. 

In a mess of Russian and Greek, Daniil could understand enough to make out 'you're the fucking worst.' 

Purposefully, he slowed down his motion tightening his grip on his hair. 

"Russian." Daniil murmured with the exact same tone that had brought Stef to him in the first place. "Say it in Russian." 

A louder, needier whimper escaped from Stefanos in reaction to those words. "I hate you, I hate you-"

Daniil overtook his lips in another open-mouthed kiss as he ground his hips in exactly the right place. One of the Greek's hands ran underneath his shirt, raking his nails down the pale skin of his back.

Whatever rhythm Daniil may have been working at, it began to become mistimed and rougher. 

Stef's back arched, their chests touching. 

Their hearts were racing.

"Say it again." Daniil spoke breathily into the Greek's ear. 

"Daniil-" Stef interrupted himself with a small 'fuck'. "Fucking hate you."

"God," The man groaned lowly, fingers pulling on his hair. "You're such a fucking brat." 

Another stifled moan came from Stef as he dug his nails into Daniil's back. "You're a f-fucking asshole." 

Though he hadn't explicitly said so, Daniil knew Stef was getting close. The moans, the whimpers, how the Greek squirmed beneath him; one hand clutching onto the fabric of his t-shirt and the other rooted on his back.

Half of Daniil wanted to take him, to get to the good part, but the other half wanted to savour and extend it.

By the time he'd managed a semi-cohesive thought, Stefanos was repeatedly crying out his name and that alone nearly made him come. Daniil couldn't resist sinking his teeth into his neck again as he quickened his pace. 

No English nor Russian left Stefanos then, swearing solely in Greek and taking God's name in vain.

He buried his face into Daniil's shoulder, trying to muffle the much higher-pitched moans he'd been producing; he didn't like how they sounded.

Abruptly, his breath caught in his throat. 

A short, high whimper came out against the cotton fabric, followed by Daniil's significantly lower, more gravelly, groan. 

Out of breath, Stef's chest heaved as his grip on Daniil's shirt finally loosened somewhat. 

Daniil managed to keep himself hovering above Stef with his breath hot against his ear. Neither of them spoke, taking a moment to indulge in the almost sinful ecstasy of it all. 

The Russian pulled his head away to look down at him, to see what he'd been so eager to see. 

Stefanos is his rawest and most vulnerable state, broken down beneath him. 

He looked like the most delicate of fine china, such a far cry from his aggressive and dominant presence on the court. 

Just one touch felt risky, Daniil thought he'd just shatter. 

He took the chance despite that, the tips of his fingers just barely grazing his cheek, but Stef turned away. 

He kept his eyes closed, a refusal to look at the older man. 

The guilt and regret had already begun to settle in for him, but it hadn't for Daniil. 

Daniil shifted to lay back in the spot beside Stefanos, staring up at the vague detail of the ceiling in the darkened room. 

Absolutely stark silence blanketed everything, no noise except for the faintest breathing. 

No cars, no sirens, no city noise to drown their thoughts out. 

Nothing. 

Stefanos felt like he was going to be sick, unable to believe he'd really done that. 

With _Daniil_ of all people.

He laid there, stewing in his increasingly negative thoughts.

Then Daniil's phone began to ring, the bright screen illuminating the formerly dim room. 

Only the lights from the street below shone through the window before then.

Daniil grabbed it from the nightstand, answering before holding it to his ear.

The conversation was in Russian- but Stef could understand Russian. He was talking to his wife.

His fucking _wife_. 

Stef had to cover his face with his hands, listening helplessly to the conversation before it became too much.

Without speaking, he quickly got up out of the bed and walked to the bathroom; making a point of quietly closing the door. 

He needed a shower, he needed to wash off what had happened and forget that he'd had any kind of intimate relations with a married man. 

The scent of perspiration coming off of his clothes as he stripped them away only continued to remind him.

_I'm never wearing these ever again. Never._

Hopefully, Daniil wouldn't care if Stef stole some things to wear; even though he would end up never getting them back.

Lots of things get lost at the hotel laundry anyway. 

He avoided himself in the mirror as he walked to the shower, turning it on too hot on purpose. It was the closest thing to a punishment he could give himself. 

Every not quite deep enough to bleed but still visible bite mark stung underneath the heat.

Having lost track of the amount of soap he'd used, Stef didn't stop until he finally felt clean.

Daniil was still on the phone, the Greek could hear him past the closed door. 

Though, a very neat pile of clean clothes rested on the bathroom vanity. They hadn't been there before. 

Stef bit his lip slightly as he wrapped a towel around himself, almost hesitant to take them now. 

It would've been easier had he just grabbed them, got changed in the hallway and left. 

He shouldn't have been overthinking everything this much.

Deciding to shut his own head up, he quickly dried off, draping the towel around his shoulders as he reluctantly got dressed. 

Luckily, none of the clothes had the Lotto logo on them. 

Whether intentional or not, it made him feel slightly better; although they were noticeably a bit too big. 

Stefanos finally opened the door, seeing Daniil sitting at the side of the bed. He looked at him as he walked out, getting up himself. 

Daniil only took a step closer before Stef looked back at him. 

The Russian paused then, pursing his lips tightly as if contemplating to speak.

Whatever it could've been, Stef wasn't interested.

He pulled the towel off of his shoulders before tossing it at Daniil, grabbing his shoes and jacket from the ground as he left. 

Daniil stood, staring after him. 

**

_"You're the best reporter from the press conference."_

Stef wasn't entirely sure if that was a joke or just a subtle jab at the incompetent journalists that sat in the conference room, but he took it as a compliment.

Narrowly, he'd missed the top eight cut off for the Next Gen Finals and, instead, was picked as the alternate. 

Though he didn't admit it, it bothered him.

He knew how much work he'd put into that year but it wasn't enough.

Jared had some nice words for him.

Hyeon called him well dressed. 

Stefanos found out Borna had never been to Greece. 

Daniil, allegedly, was one of the best Fifa players in the Next Gen.

That was according to him.

"So Daniil, you said you're one of the best Fifa players in the Next Gen?" Stef asked, microphone in hand with the ATP Media's lights shining directly into the Russian's face.

"I think so, I haven't played against anyone but I was really good before." Daniil smiled a bit as he spoke. "Now I'm a little bit worse with all the professional tennis life."

It followed with a chuckle.

He handled the spotlight well. 

Stef smiled, nodding his head before giving him a brief handshake. "Thanks for the interview." 

"No problem, yeah? It's a nice change." 

Though the media team wandered away, telling him to go to Gianluigi now, Stef lingered back momentarily.

Daniil was looking at him, still a slight smile on his lips. 

Before Stefanos turned and walked off to his next interviewee. 

~~

He hadn't been expecting running around and interviewing eight specific people would be so tiring, but he was exhausted by the time he got away from the lights and noise.

Stef just about collapsed onto the bench out in the hallway, leaning back with his head resting against the wall.

Eyes closed.

The noise didn't sound as loud anymore. 

Last he'd checked his watch, it was nine at night. 

It felt like two in the morning with how the media team dragged him every which way. 

It was a lot of fun, getting to interview everyone. 

Catching up. 

The media team complimented him every two seconds as well, which was a nice confidence boost.

He zoned out, silently sitting in his own small world. All he needed was a small escape. 

Without Stef even noticing, the door quietly opened and closed. 

Someone took a seat beside him. 

It took a few moments for him to open his eyes and look at the person. 

Stefanos tilted his head slightly. "Daniil?" 

Daniil hadn't been paying attention to him. 

"Hm?"

"Aren't you enjoying the party?" 

"I am, just needed a break." Daniil shrugged his shoulders. "It's pretty loud in there."

The Greek nodded in quiet understanding, turning his gaze to look at his hands that rested in his lap. 

"What about you?" 

"Same as you. Running around and talking to everyone is tiring." 

"Well, you did a good job with the interviewing. Everyone actually wanted to talk to you."

Stef let out a laugh in reaction to those words. "Really? That's nice to know." 

Daniil flashed him a smile, nudging him gently. "If tennis doesn't work out, maybe you should become a journalist." 

"Think so?" 

With a short nod, Daniil found his eyes gazing at the ceiling. 

As though he were thinking.

"You know," He started before looking at Stef again. "I remember when you were young and your family visited my parents in Moscow. You had this broken karaoke microphone and you wouldn't leave me and my friends alone until you interviewed us." 

"God- Daniil that was a long time ago." Stefanos laughed. "I barely remember that. How old was I?"

"Probably like six or seven. I was nine." 

"Must've been annoying." 

"Not really, my friends didn't mind either. It made you happy." 

"My mum bribed you, didn't she?" Stef smiled. 

Daniil raised his eyebrows for a moment before chuckling. "I can't say no to chocolate." 

He gave the Russian a small, joking push before the Greek let his head rest back again the wall again. "Of course she did, I'm not surprised."

His words carried down the short hallway, a slightly noisy form of silence slowly overtaking everything around them.

White noise.

"You know, Stef," Daniil spoke as though he were thinking out loud. "I've liked catching up with you." 

"We haven't done much catching up, though."

"I know, but just seeing you and being able to talk. It's been five years."

"Not that much has changed really." Stefanos shrugged his shoulders. "Are you and Daria, still...?"

Daniil nodded his head. "We are. You and Eleni?" 

The Greek pursed his lips before letting out a slightly awkward laugh. "You want an honest answer?"

"Always."

"We were never dating." 

"Wait, really- you had me fooled."

"I think we had a lot of people fooled, honestly. Neither of us wanted to feel left out." 

It became silent again until Daniil started laughing. 

"You really, really have not changed at all. Still such a kid." 

Stef frowned a bit. "Hey, what did I do?"

"It's a good thing! It's cute, it's really cute, Stef." Daniil smiled as he patted the younger man's thigh. 

Now, Stef had a hint of a blush on his face. 

"Yeah right." The Greek mumbled, looking over at the door for a moment. "Don't you think they're missing you?" 

"Probably."

Daniil didn't really care, but the people at the party and the media team likely would. 

"I'll probably go back to the hotel, need a good night's sleep." 

"Well, you sleep well then, yeah?" Daniil spoke as he got up with a hand extended. 

Stef took it as he nodded, letting him be pulled up. "I will, enjoy the rest of the party." 

Without warning, the Russian wrapped his arms around him in a short hug. No words exchanged as Stefanos slowly returned it. 

He was there one moment, then the contact and the warmth disappeared behind the closing door. 

Stefanos found himself staring after him, but only briefly. He turned and walked down the hallway. 

**

Despite over four hundred posts, apparently, stefanostsitsipas98 hadn't posted anything yet.

No matter how many times Daniil tried to hit the stupid follow button, it didn't do anything.

He started laughing out of sheer irritation.

It took him a few moments until the realisation hit him.

Stef had blocked him. 

Now, he didn't have any way of contacting him. 

Of course, Daria didn't hear the end of it for almost a week. 

After something so intimate, something they'd shared together, Daniil was offended that it obviously hadn't meant anything to Stefanos.

Those emotions didn't go away, either.

Roughly six months had passed and the doubles draw gave Daniil the chance to, hopefully, get a bit of clarity.

Stefanos, on the other hand, was cursing it. Just the sight of meeting Daniil and Karen in the first round nearly made him sick with anxiety.

Wes had no clue what the problem was, and Stef didn't want him too either.

"So _that's_ the 'bullshit Russian' guy?" Wes asked in a vaguely teasing voice, a smile on his face. 

Stef groaned as he laid his head down in his arms. "You know I'm not proud of that, but yeah, it's him."

"You told me you didn't know him, though." 

"I wish I didn't." 

The Dutchman tilted his head as he took a seat beside him. "Why does he bother you so much? I've never seen you like this with anyone." 

"We just... we have bad chemistry."

"Sounds like more than bad chemistry. You almost seem scared of him."

Honestly, Stef wasn't completely sure how he felt. "Do I? God, I don't even know."

"Come on, Stef, that guy only has as much power as you give him."

"Then I'm giving him a lot of it."

"Well, cut that out. We're going to beat them and it'll be in straights. That's how we do things, yeah?"

Stefanos didn't know how or why Wes sounded so sure, but he had no choice but to believe him. He flashed him a short smile- a thankful one. 

"Thanks. We're going to win, then."

"Fuck yeah we are, we're damn good." 

Wes returned the expression before pulling his friend into a brief hug. 

~~

Somehow, Wes predicted the future. 

6-1 6-4.

Quick, simple, easy.

Karen was nice at the net, congratulating the two of them. 

Daniil was significantly colder. He'd squeezed Stef's hand so tightly that he let out a small groan of pain. 

Wes noticed, but by the time Daniil shook his hand; it had been incredibly brief.

So brief that Wesley didn't get the chance to even look at him or even really feel it.

He disregarded it, shaking the hand of the umpire after Stef before they celebrated.

It had been a fun match and, visibly, Stefanos looked a lot less frightened. 

As Daniil trailed Karen, Wes saw the way Daniil looked at the Greek that wasn't facing him. 

There was such an odd glint within those cold brown eyes.

It left Wes with a bad taste in his mouth. 

_No wonder Stef had been so unsettled by him._

~~

Only briefly did Stef and Daniil see each other again.

Or, rather, Daniil saw Stef. 

They were walking past each other, going in opposite directions. The Russian noticed how Stef's hair was a bit damp from having been in the shower.

It brought him back to that night.

How he looked after he'd gotten out of the shower.

A slight mint and eucalyptus fragrance followed the young Greek.

Daniil stopped, opening his mouth to speak.

"Stef, we need to talk." The Russian spoke up at first, but his words trailed off so much that the word 'talk' was hardly above a whisper. He stared after Stefanos, who hadn't even spared him a single look as he walked right past. 

"Wait." 

Daniil thought he'd projected that down enough for the other man to hear, but it was hardly audible.

All he could do was watch him turn the corner and out of sight, having not even acknowledged there had been another person in the hallway at all.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i accidentally wrote more than i meant to so this chapter will be fairly long, so i'm sorry about that!  
> hope all of you enjoy it x

_He only has as much power as you give him._

Every day, Stef reminded himself of what Wes had told him. 

Whenever he'd heard Daniil's name, seen his face or his dreaded surname appear in the draws, he'd simply close his eyes and repeat.

_He only has as much power as you give him._

As it happened, having an upcoming match against Kukushkin in two hours at the time; there was a chance of meeting the Russian in round three.

'Knowing my luck, that's exactly what's going to happen.' Stefanos thought as he shook his head, staring blankly at the wall of the players' lounge. 'Maybe I should shorten my hotel stay, go back to the academy for a few days.'

He was thinking ahead, automatically assuming he'd be biting the dust, having not even played his first match yet.

If Wes were there right then, he'd be shaking him. 

_'Be positive, Stef! Positive! Positive!'_ Wes would say. _'If you're not positive, no one can help you!'_

Stef let out a huff, leaning back with arms folded over his chest. He didn't feel very positive. 

Try. 

Try to be more positive.

No one knows what tomorrow holds.

The Greek closed his eyes, trying to quiet the multitude of thoughts running circles around his head.

_Don't count yourself out yet._

~~

Avoidance in the world of tennis was an impossibility.

You could only avoid someone for so long, eventually, they'd talk to you or you'd be forced to play them.

In that sense, it was brutal.

Especially when all Stef wanted was to take a shower, get dressed and get something to eat.

That was just too simple. 

The first thing he saw after getting dressed was Daniil, walking into the locker room; looking as though he'd just finished an intense training session. His face was reddened, still with beads of sweat running down his forehead.

Stefanos tried to hide behind one of the lockers without the man noticing, wishing he could sink into his hoodie and never come out. 

It was made even more embarrassing when he unintentionally stared at the way his shirt clung to his chest.

"Stefanos, I know you're over there." 

_Son of a-_

His thoughts were interrupted by Daniil coming around the corner, only now he wasn't wearing his shirt anymore. 

Against his mind telling him to just look down a little more, he didn't listen.

Stef froze in place, not saying a word. 

Daniil just stood in total silence for what seemed like an hour. 

"Are you just going to stare at me or are we going to talk?" The Russian asked, his eyebrow raising ever so slightly. 

"Uh-" Stef seemed to hesitate, before looking down at the ground. "Nothing to talk about..."

Daniil didn't respond for a moment, seeing the younger man steal a quick look at his torso. 

Then, he turned around and tried to walk away. 

The Russian reached out and grabbed hold of his hood, pulling him back. 

Stefanos didn't want to look at him, but he didn't have a choice now. 

"Are you _seriously_ going to pretend like nothing happened?" Daniil asked. He didn't sound threatening, or even angry, only frustrated. 

The man didn't get an answer soon enough for his liking. 

"Stefanos, answer me." 

"I'm choosing to forget that anything happened, and I wish you would stop trying to bring it up." Stef frowned, having not wanted to even think about it; let alone admit it. 

"It happened-"

"And we can forget that it did." 

Daniil's eyebrows furrowed, visibly holding back the urge to blow up on him. 

Stefanos tugged the Russian's hand off of his hood that hadn't left his grasp, turning to leave with his head down. 

It wasn't enough, that had been the most they'd spoken in over six months. 

How badly Daniil wanted to reach out, tug him back, get just one more taste of the lips he hadn't savoured. 

He didn't.

Stefanos left.

Daniil felt cold.

~~

This _isn't_ fucking funny. 

Daniil wanted to crack his racquet over his knee, beginning to get incredibly frustrated at the scoreline.

He'd started off so well, 6-2, then Stef just started playing so well.

Flipped the script on him entirely.

No, the loss of the second set wasn't intentional this time and it wasn't funny.

The Russian ranted to himself, though not out loud. Gilles was looking at his phone and Daria was suddenly very interested in her nails.

Meanwhile, Apostolos was clapping, intently watching.

Daniil felt like everything was against him, suddenly. 

Stefanos ran his fingers across the felt of the ball. 

It was then he noticed that Daniil had switched from Lotto to Lacoste. 

Only briefly did the thought of _'he looks better in Lacoste'_ cross his mind, before he threw the ball up and hit it so hard that Daniil hardly saw it go past. 

Everything went by so fast.

It had been 1-0, then suddenly 4-3; now they were sitting down at 5-4. 

The trainer came out for all of six seconds to give Daniil a packet of salt, at least that's what Stef assumed. 

Stef did his best to gather his thoughts, to focus solely on his game.

By the time he'd gotten out on the court, he didn't feel ready anymore. 

Something was distracting him.

His first serve went right into the net.

Second serve dropped short, they had a brief rally.

Then he hit it directly into the net, having had the entire court to hit into. 

Part of the Greek felt crushed.

He knew what was coming now. 

It was only confirmed when he hit a smash so far out even someone on a yacht outside of the club could see it was out. 

Three match points.

Two match points.

Double fault.

_Jeu, set et match, Medvedev.  
_

"Game, set and match, Medvedev." Auriele Torte announced. "Six two, one six, six four."

Daniil's arms went up in the air, a big grin finding it's way onto his face. He looked so happy.

4-0.

Stefanos pulled his headband off, feeling as though he were about to pass out. 

"Good job." 

It wasn't genuine, and the Greek was too tired to attempt to sound convincing.

His eyes told a story, one that his words did not.

_This is your fault._

Their hands met and Daniil tried to hold on just a moment longer, but Stef tugged his hand from his grasp as he turned away.

Despite the poor attempt at a handshake, the older man wasn't going to let that take his moment. 

However, they locked eyes again before Stef slung his bag over his shoulder. 

_This is **your** fault._

Within only a minute, Stef had disappeared into the locker room. 

Luckily for him, he'd cancelled his hotel reservation already.

Nothing better than sulking in your apartment. 

~~

The highlight of the week had been playing doubles with Nick.

As it turned out, he wasn't as brutish as he'd seemed.

He actually treated him with respect, they'd gone out to dinner together and shared a lot of laughs those first few days.

Not that it ended badly, Stef wasn't upset with Nick for how he'd acted or even that he'd pulled a hamstring, but he would've preferred it had gone differently. 

"See you in Montreal." 

Though, Stefanos didn't realise how he'd be _getting to_ Montreal.

The final was fun to watch, Nick had been playing well all week.

He sent him a quick congratulations text during the ceremony. 

Having explored the city, packed up his bags and all of his family getting ready, Nick called him. 

"How does a private plane sound?"

"It sounds amazing, obviously," Stef laughed. "Will it just be us?"

"Us and Med." 

Stef paused for a second, his lips parted as he processed what Nick had said. Though he knew fully who Nick had meant, he decided to play dumb.

"Med?"

"Yeah. Daniil." 

_Fuck._

"Oh, okay." 

Somehow, he managed to sound completely normal despite thinking he was about to catch fire right where he sat. 

This had to be some cruel joke the universe was playing on him. 

"I'll text you the address, yeah?"

"Okay, I'll see you soon then." 

A half mumble of 'alright, see ya' came from Nick before the call ended.

Stef put the phone down beside him before grabbing his pillow from the head of the bed.

He buried his face into it as he laid down, screaming into it until his throat was sore.

The absolute last person he wanted to be around was Daniil, he had been on his mind more than he cared to admit.

This was bad.

This was awful.

This was a recipe for disaster.

Stefanos didn't care that he was overreacting, every time Daniil was even brought up, it felt like the end of the world.

After Monte-Carlo, he became so conflicted.

_Stop thinking about it, stop thinking about it._

He couldn't do anything now. 

The plane ride was happening and the only solace he truly had was in his mother, father and sister being on board. 

Daniil wouldn't do anything with them there.

Hopefully.

A little tweet came from his phone.

He couldn't hide the small groan that left him, still hiding his face in the pillow.

Nick texted him the address.

Truly, he was trapped now. 

~~

Never before had Daniil or Stef taken such an awkward picture.

The photo turned out nice, surprisingly, and their smiles looked genuine.

When Daniil's coach moved to take a picture with him, Stefanos had already gotten inside and sat in the back with his sister. 

Nick came in a short while after with two other people. 

Julia and Apostolos weren't paying attention to their son in his time of internal crisis, Elisavet didn't even notice there was an issue.

She was too busy eating popcorn and texting her friends. 

Stef spent most of the plane ride staring out the window, pretending that he was completely alone.

He could feel Daniil looking at him every so often.

It made him want to throw something at him. 

Something, anything, maybe an idle water bottle.

Before he could do that, he closed his eyes as he rested his head against the window. 

_I'll survive. I'll be fine._

Gilles noticed Daniil glancing over, how his shoulders slumped ever so slightly as he turned back to his phone.

"You okay?" He asked, leaning back somewhat. 

"I'm fine," Daniil responded flatly, liking a few pictures as he scrolled through Instagram. "Just want to be in Montreal already."

The Frenchman looked at him sceptically. He knew how Daniil got when he was bothered, but he wasn't wanting to talk about it. 

With a shrug of the shoulders, Gilles let it go. 

Only one more hour. 

~~

That hour flew by and now they were in Canada. 

Whatever money the tournament had paid into that private flight had been well worth it.

Stefanos was the first off, getting his luggage and his family's as everyone else got themselves sorted. 

It had been in the vain hope that he'd also be the first to get to the hotel, thus avoiding Daniil. 

No such luck. 

As he stood in the small airport's wait lounge room, Daniil wandered in with his suitcases and tennis bag. 

Stef didn't look at him.

"Did you like the flight?" Daniil asked. He was trying, he really was. 

No response, as if no one had even spoken. 

The Russian frowned slightly as he moved so as to be standing almost directly in front of him. 

This was becoming incredibly frustrating.

"Stef-"

"Don't call me that." Stef interjected, arms folded over his chest and unknowingly backing away. 

Daniil's gaze hardened as his eyes burned into the younger man. 

He thought about trying to talk, trying to be reasonable; but being forthcoming had started this whole thing. 

Fighting fire with fire seemed like the only option, seeing how trying to be mature wasn't working.

Abruptly, Daniil roughly grabbed Stef by the arm and tugged him along to the bathroom, ignoring his complaints. 

"Let me go, I don't want to talk to you." Stefanos whined, but he couldn't get out of his grip. 

When the door closed behind them, Stef found himself pressed against it with Daniil's arms on either side of him.

Before he even had the chance to process anything, the still familiar sensation of the Russian's lips against his own completely overtook him.

There, they stood.

Connected. 

Daniil's hands cupped his face with a touch so gentle and unlike him that Stef thought he was having some sort of fever dream.

_This is wrong._

This wasn't real.

This was real.

_This is wrong._

It couldn't be real.

Stefanos melted, he'd forgotten everything. 

Never, even in his silly daydreams, could Stef imagine such a tender, loving kiss from Daniil.

No.

_No._

"Stop-" Stef spoke, breaking the connection before quickly shoving him away. "What the fuck- oh my _god_."

Daniil blinked a few times as he looked at the Greek. 

"Oh my god, this is so fucked up. That was so wrong." Stefanos could hardly breathe, now, hiding his eyes behind his hand. "This is so fucking _wrong_."

"How the hell is it wrong?!" Daniil retorted, almost feeling offended. 

"You're fucking married! My god Daniil, you're _married_!" Stef raised his voice more than he meant to. 

Daniil wanted to respond, but there wasn't anything he could say. 

"Stef please, that isn't the point-"

Without thinking, Stef shoved Daniil hard enough to knock him completely over. 

When it happened, he felt bad for all of a second, until Daniil got up and grabbed him by the hair. 

They were loud enough for Nick to come in, looking extremely concerned.

Upon seeing Daniil with Stefanos against the wall with the Greek's arm wrenched behind his back, arguing in a barely understandable mix of Russian and English, Nick had to pull Daniil off.

He thought he'd been the one who started it. 

Stefanos left as quickly as he could, Nick lingering to calm Daniil down.

"What happened?"

"Doesn't matter."

"You looked like you were going to choke him, mate."

"It doesn't matter."

Nick didn't believe him, not even for a second. 

"Why are you two so tense, then? Atmosphere's been killing me all day."

Daniil wasn't looking at Nick before, but he was now. "Bad chemistry, I guess." 

The Aussie raised an eyebrow at that before following it up with a shrug. 

"I hope you two get it sorted then, I guess." 

_Trust me, I hope so too._

With a short nod, Nick gave him a short pat on the shoulder before walking away.

Daniil idled, staring at the ground. 

_I hope so too._

~~

When Daniil got to his hotel room, he got on Instagram to post the photo of him, Nick and Stef. 

First, he tagged Nick.

He paused when he looked at Stef and his bright grin.

Such a vibrant smile.

_Ugh._

Daniil shut his own thoughts up, thinking he might throw up or something at such disgustingly mushy thoughts. 

He had to tag someone or, at least, something.

Thinking it wouldn't work, Daniil started to type 'stefa' before none other than stefanostsitsipas98 came up as an option.

He stared at the username, astonished. 

Hesitating, thinking it to be too good to be true, he pressed on that name.

The tag worked.

Typing up a quick caption, thanking the tournament and the jet company, he posted it before going to Stef's profile.

Over six hundred posts, and he could see every single one of them. 

All of them. 

Daniil let out a laugh of disbelief. 

Everything felt like some weird, alternate universe.

It only made sense to send him a message. 

One word.

'why'

Stef read it roughly ten minutes later.

He never responded.

~~

Only the warmth of hiding under the duvet managed to keep Stefanos somewhat sane. 

He'd been trying to sleep for almost two hours, but his mind continued to dwell on his loss. 

Though he had lost twice, he wasn't upset about the doubles.

Nick made him feel better about that. 

All the fighting, all the effort he'd put in against Hurkacz and it meant nothing.

The only thing he got out of it was more pain in his thigh.

Apostolos tried to cheer him up, Julia and Elisavet did as well, but he left dinner early to be alone for a bit. 

Part of him didn't want to be alone. 

Every emotion he'd been feeling since Monte-Carlo was extremely contradictory, none of it made sense. 

Stefanos stared at the wall, trying to will himself to sleep.

He wanted to feel one specific person's touch, but he didn't want him. 

_Stop it, I don't want him._

_Message him._

_No,_ _I can't._

_Fuck._

Stef's hands curled into a fist, feeling his nails digging into his palms. 

His hands wouldn't stop shaking.

Not knowing if Daniil was thinking about him too only made it more unbearable. 

Not knowing was like a punishment. 

He grabbed his phone, pulling up his profile on Instagram and beginning to type out a message.

Nothing he typed sounded right, he deleted it and started over at least five times. 

_What am I doing?_

Stefanos didn't have an answer to that question, but he'd finally typed out what he wanted to say.

'fairmont the queen elizabeth, room 280.' 

Surely, Daniil would know what that meant.

Whatever the meaning was, not even Stef really knew. 

He didn't want to be alone. 

Stef put his phone face down on the nightstand, pulling the duvet over his face. 

If he were lucky, he'd somehow doze off. 

Somehow.

~~

No such luck would be had that night. 

A few solid knocks came at the door, Stef could hear them from behind the closed bedroom door. 

He groaned, not wanting to get up.

Another knock. 

Stefanos pushed the duvet off with a huff, pulling himself from the bed before going out to get the door. 

When his hand made contact with the doorknob, he hesitated. 

If he decided to not open that door, maybe whoever was on the other side would go away.

_You know who it is._

His fingers tightened around the cold metal. 

_Don't._

Everything told him no, everything but his body and his heart.

That's how he'd always been, his mother would tell him _'you always think with your heart'._

_You always think with your heart._

At least he could blame his heart for opening that damn door. 

Daniil looked vaguely drowsy, as though he couldn't find sleep either.

He had never appeared so relaxed before then.

Stefanos didn't speak to him as he allowed the older man inside, walking back to the safety and comfort of his bed.

It made him feel protected.

The Russian closed the door before following him into the bedroom, standing in the doorway as he looked over at Stef.

"Are you okay?" Daniil asked, somewhat confused as to why he'd been called there in the first place.

Stef didn't respond.

The entire situation felt different than the others.

Having not gotten a response, Daniil took himself over to the bed. He leaned over and pulled the duvet away from Stef's face slightly. 

Quickly, Stefanos threw his hands over his eyes before he could see; but the older man grabbed his wrists and moved them.

In that instant, Daniil's features softened.

Warm tears fell down Stef's cheeks, for reasons he wasn't entirely sure of. 

He didn't want to be seen like that. 

"Stef," Daniil murmured with a slight of a frown of his lips. He shifted into the spot beside him on the bed, gently pulling him closer. "Come here."

No protest came, Stefanos quick to wrap his arms around him before burying his face into his shoulder. 

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry." The Greek spoke, though it was muffled. 

"You don't have to apologise."

Stefanos wasn't apologising to him, he was apologising to Daria. 

Apologising because he couldn't control himself, because he was weak. 

Daniil held him, a hand on the back of his head and the other gently rubbing his back. 

Repeatedly, Stef mumbled past tears. "I'm horrible, I'm a terrible person."

"Stop." The Russian firmly spoke as he shook his head. He let Stefanos pull away slightly, trying to dry his face with his shirt sleeve. 

Daniil's hand held the side of his face as he ran his calloused thumb across Stef's cheek, catching a stray tear. 

Stefanos placed his hand over Daniil's, repeating his apology over and over in his head. 

Everything was wrong and he knew it, but that didn't stop him. 

This time, Stefanos leaned in. He initiated it.

Before their lips met, he hesitated just for a moment.

For both of them, Daniil took it upon himself to close the gap with a gentle yet insistent kiss. Fingers now entangled in his hair, the Russian's hand moved down to press against Stef's chest.

His heart wasn't racing.

Daniil could taste the faintest trace of salt on Stef's lips.

The sensation of _this is wrong_ didn't cease, but it didn't feel wrong anymore. 

No sparks, no electricity, nothing like that ever happened between them. This, however, felt like serenity. 

Like the rest of the world had turned away and it was only them, the sky and ground becoming one.

Floating. 

A fleeting sensation, one neither had ever experienced. 

Stefanos pulled away first, pressing his forehead against Daniil's with eyes closed.

The Russian kept a hand on the back of his head.

He took in the moment, making sure he wouldn't forget it. 

"I don't-" Stef murmured but paused halfway through, pulling back slightly as his amber eyes made a reappearance. "I don't want to be alone."

Daniil looked at him, seeing how his eyes were still reddened with flickers of desperation within them. He pursed his lips as he tucked a rebellious lock of curly blonde hair behind his ear. "You won't be, I promise."

It wasn't his promise to make, but he said it anyway. 

Only that night was certain, but Daniil could guarantee it personally. 

Just one night.

One night where they were equals, where they could exist without consequence. 

Daniil moved the duvet a bit, watching Stef lay down underneath. 

There was a lump in the Russian's throat as he pulled it over both of them completely, one that he couldn't swallow. 

With one gentle motion, he smoothed the creases down under his hand.

Stefanos never looked so at ease in his presence before, not even when they saw each other at the Next Gen Finals- which felt like years ago. 

The Greek shifted close to him when he laid down, a hand against his chest. 

"Goodnight." Stef spoke, barely above a whisper. 

Daniil closed his eyes, a piece of him not quite believing what was going on. 

Leaning down, the man pressed the softest kiss against his forehead. 

"Sleep well, Stef."

_I hope you sleep well._

Daniil knew he wouldn't be able to sleep. 

He didn't want to make the same mistake twice.

This, he would savour, even though he knew he couldn't stay to see it through until the sun rose.

He could be there then.

That could be enough.

~~

The sun that poured in through the window nearly blinded Stef as his eyes opened.

His mind was foggy, barely able to remember what day of the week it was.

_Last night._

Stefanos rubbed the sleepiness from his eyes, looking over at the spot beside him. 

It looked like no one had been there at all. 

He stared longer than he meant to, reaching over and resting his hand against the pillow. 

The air in the room felt lighter than before. 

_Wishful thinking._

Stef thought that what happened the night before was a dream. He moved to lay his head on the pillow, wrapping his arm around it. 

It smelled like him.

He was convinced it smelled just like him.

_Wishful thinking, Stef._

A sinking feeling of dread filled his chest. 

Last night was a product of desperation.

_Last night hadn't truly happened._

Daniil wanted it that way.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm really sorry if this chapter is- for lack of a better word- a bit of a cluster-fuck but nevertheless, i hope all of you enjoy it!! xx

Montreal came and went.

Cincinnati came and went. 

The US Open came and went. 

Now, St Petersburg was over.

Good results found Daniil.

Four finals, his first Masters' title and a 250 to top it off.

The opposite happened for Stef.

The US Open ended early, marred with the worst cramps he'd ever had in his life and with a very ridiculous argument; even Stef could admit that. 

Daniil heard about it from Andrey, he would've never known otherwise. 

For the sake of his sanity and his marriage, he'd decided to try and distance himself as best as he could. 

Stefanos's social media detox and Youtube hiatus made that fairly easy. 

The most Daniil had heard, Stef got one of the last two spots on Laver Cup's Team Europe.

Getting the opportunity to be up close and personal with the greatest in the sport, play with them as teammates instead of rivals. 

How lucky he was.

In his own way, Daniil was happy for him.

As happy as he could've been towards Stefanos.

Daniil didn't watch the tournament; except for the final match and that was only because Daria wanted to watch it.

She openly said she wanted Europe to win.

Daniil wanted World to win just so Europe couldn't, but he only thought it instead of saying it aloud.

It didn't work out that way, Sascha won in the match tiebreak and collapsed onto the black court in sheer ecstasy.

What the Russian hadn't expected was to see how Stef bolted from the couch, overcome with the same joy as Sascha as he threw himself on top of him.

Daniil stared, feeling a slight twitch in his left eye. Whatever he'd just witnessed, he wanted to unsee it.

Daria was giggling. "That's so cute." 

He didn't say anything, rather, he went over all the things he could've been doing in his head instead.

They could've gone out to a restaurant to celebrate his title win instead of seeing Stef practically fawning over the tall, blonde German.

Obviously, Stef had a type. 

Someone taller than him. 

Despite having an arm around his wife, Daniil could feel the way his heart reacted to seeing it.

How Stefanos followed after Sascha with his hands on his shoulders, that bright, happy grin plastered on his face.

He'd been known to jump to conclusions a bit too quickly his whole life.

This, however.

This didn't feel too quick or even unfounded.

Daria got up, going to get a bottle of water. 

It brought Daniil back to where his mind should've been.

Whatever emotions he was feeling, he knew that he shouldn't be dwelling on them.

"You want to watch a movie?" Daniil asked as he reached over to grab the television remote. 

"Don't want to watch the trophy ceremony?"

"Do you?"

Daria flashed him a short smile as she sat back down beside him. "Not really."

That was merciful.

Daniil appreciated it.

"Pick a movie then, I'll get some popcorn."

~~

Daniil should've expected something completely ridiculous when he saw that Stef had uploaded a new video.

_PERFECT._

He dreaded to think what was so perfect, though a few things sprung to mind. 

A few _people_.

_'i am not good at making promises.'_

An interesting way to open up a video, amidst the glitchy effects and what sounded like the start of a VHS tape.

Then, the shot of the boats on Lake Geneva, sped up.

Instantly, One Direction began to play.

Daniil couldn't suppress a laugh, because he thought it was silly.

The shot of him in the Laver Cup shirt and cap, which did nothing to tame his outgrown hair, slowed down as he walked through his hotel room.

Pears, macarons emblazoned with the Swiss flag and tennis balls, it seemed ripe for his cheesy camera work.

Rexona Motion Sense and some sensitivity toothpaste.

It went black.

Then he started dancing.

Gilles began laughing, as did Daniil.

How silly he looked, alone in his hotel room; dancing in front of a camera.

"Is this real? He does stuff like this all the time?" Gilles asked, mostly rhetorically. 

Daniil didn't respond, simply shaking his head as he heard _'good morning from Geneva'_.

He wasn't paying full attention to what he was saying, only catching how he'd _'lived things'_ , _'saw things'_ and _'experienced all these beautiful, unforgettable moments'_. 

Whatever those moments were.

A slight sensation of what the Russian assumed was jealousy- envy?- burned in his chest.

"Maybe he's finally got a girlfriend." Gilles mused, nudging Daniil slightly.

With how Stef's eyes were sparkling, he almost felt uneasy about what could've happened.

He hadn't gotten how he and Sascha interacted out of his head since he saw the final match.

Having _'good people'_ around made for an excellent night.

The smile, more radiant than ever, it was so evident in his face how much fun he'd had.

_Good people._

_Nothing like me, right?_

Daniil knew that nothing had been addressing him, but he felt like it was.

Childishly, he took it as criticism. 

Someone who dedicates a fucking video to One Direction was quite far from malicious, after all.

Gilles got up to get something to drink, briefly leaving Daniil to keep watching. 

More vaguely aesthetic shots after his intro, then it was just Stef.

Laying in bed, hair fluffed out against the pillow. 

Daniil's eye twitched slightly. 

He knew how that soft, curly mess of hair felt between his fingers; he could feel it now.

_'More Toxic People'_

That was the title of the book Stef said he was reading. 

With his arms folded over his chest, Daniil found his hand gripping his arm tightly. 

How toxic people bring negativity instead of good, how toxic people think and how many varieties people like that come in.

_'These toxic people can be found in different 'shapes and sizes', metaphorically.'_

_Why does it feel like Stef was looking at me as he said that?_

He was overanalysing it, psyching himself out.

Gilles came back with a glass of orange juice, taking a seat back beside him.

Rambling on about how nice the night was, how it was good for the soul.

Daniil was too busy looking at his eyes and those obnoxious, annoying long eyelashes.

Made him look like a deer. 

When Apostolos and Julia made themselves known, Daniil scoffed.

"This should be good." He joked.

_"Is that true, what I heard?" Julia asks in her thick Russian accent. "I'm worried now, have you drank one drop of alcohol?"_

_The camera pans over to Nick, who was sat on the couch._

_"I am alcoholic," Stef states very matter-a-factly, as though he were being serious. Between Nick laughing and saying 'he's addicted', Stef spoke again. "I have to announce to you that I became alcoholic."_

_His mother thought it was funny, Nick thought it was funny._

_"How did it feel?" Apostolos asks._

_"I had half a glass of vodka."_

_"Was it just straight alcohol or was it mixed?"_

_"Coca Cola vodka." Stef quietly answers._

_"Fuck-" His dad let out as he turns away for a moment._

_"No, Stef, come on!" Julia projects, as though she were surprised._

_"What- it was disgusting, it was so bad I didn't like it at all!"_

_In between his parents both telling him that lemon juice and tomato juice were the proper way to go with vodka, Stef was trying to explain himself._

_"Mama, mama, they forced me to do it-"_

"Oh my god," Gilles seemed to think out loud. "Is this kid serious?"

Daniil had a faint smirk on his lips, watching the video of them chanting _Tsitsipas_ repeatedly. 

_"Are you so innocent?" Julia asks, seemingly on the verge of laughing again._

_"Huh?"_

_"Say tomato juice, please."_

"How old is he?" The Frenchman asked, genuinely finding the whole thing extremely childish.

"Like twenty-one." 

"He would never survive in the real world, he acts like he's fifteen." Gilles shook his head as he took a sip of water. "No chance anyone could take him seriously, it's pathetic."

Daniil replayed the whole scene in his head a second time, wanting to see what Gilles had seen; but he didn't. 

He didn't explicitly say it, but it was almost disgustingly cute. 

Disgustingly cute.

Disgustingly innocent and pure.

Honestly, what Gilles said annoyed him slightly; but he knew he didn't mean it like that.

How far he'd dug this hole that he couldn't get out of.

This was Daniil's fault, his own stupidity. 

Whether he meant to get wrapped up in this or not, it didn't change anything.

Without saying anything else, Daniil quietly closed his laptop before getting up.

~~

_OBSESSION IS A YOUNG MAN'S GAME._

After Stefanos ended Zhuhai how he had, Daniil was surprised when he got on Youtube, seeing the bell with the red circle and white number one.

The only person he'd turned upload notifications on for was Stef.

Compared to the Geneva vlog, it was significantly less interesting. 

Stef's hair was a wreck, his agent had to untangle an elastic from a visibly tangled, messy head of hair. 

Nothing else really happened, only briefly was a haircut mentioned.

_'OMG! I just saw you on tv!'_

_'Which channel?'_

_'Animal Planet'_

Daniil felt his eye twitch.

He didn't know who was texting Stef, but he needed to know.

After that, Daniil shut his laptop much harder than he meant to.

_Who cares._

_Who fucking cares._

Daniil dropped it onto the bed before picking his tennis bag off the ground, almost fuming.

He had to take his frustration out on something- and that something would be the tennis ball.

~~

Eavesdropping. 

Not something Daniil usually did, generally, he'd just ask for information.

Not when it came to Stefanos, however.

Daniil had been walking through the lobby after leaving his things in the locker room, wanting to get something to eat.

Viciously hitting the now pressureless balls had calmed him down significantly.

As he came into the players' restaurant, he saw Dominic and Roger sitting together.

It didn't mean anything to him at first, Daniil simply got a few slices of prosciutto, cheese and crackers.

Not very healthy, but it's what he wanted.

Purposefully, he sat just within earshot of their conversation, though it was entirely in German.

He was quiet as he ate, trying to understand even just a little bit of what they were saying. 

"Zumindest Sascha und Stef sind jetzt näher." 

"Es ist besser, als Sascha ihn subtil zu schikanieren."

_'Sascha and Stef'_

That was all he understood, and without any extra context; his mind made up its own meaning.

It had to be about their relationship.

Daniil must've been right, something happened during Laver Cup.

They must've gotten close.

That must've been why Stef was so happy.

He accidentally crushed the cracker he had in his hand.

It made sense, now.

It was _Sascha_.

_Stefanos and Sascha._

Of course it was.

Daniil got up, shaking the crumbs of his murdered cracker off of his hand.

He left the plate behind.

He wanted to get answers but he wasn't sure how he'd get them.

Somehow.

Neither Dominic or Roger even noticed him as he left.

For himself, for his peace of mind.

Daniil told himself.

_'I'm going to find out, and that is where this will end.'_

It wasn't confident, didn't feel convincing enough. 

_'This is over, Daniil.'_

~~

_Is Hell beginning to freeze over?_

Daniil had to ask himself as he stood outside of the tournament venue. 

Stef told him that he didn't want to talk, but he also knew for a fact that Daniil would confront him no matter what.

Only for that reason did Stef relent and agree to meet him after his practice.

The Russian waited outside for almost thirty minutes before Stefanos came out, standing in front of him with arms folded over his chest.

He looked expectant.

Daniil looked at him from where he sat.

"So," He started, unsure of what to say. 

"So...?"

"You and-" 

The words weren't coming out how he wanted them to, he was stumbling over every syllable. 

"Sascha, you and Sascha."

"Sascha?" Stef looked obviously confused. "What about him?"

"Your video- you-" Daniil couldn't speak, he was getting frustrated with the entire situation. "You're dating him, I know you're with him."

Stefanos paused, going completely quiet. His eyebrows were furrowed.

Instead of confusion, there was anger written across his face. 

"That's what you dragged me out here for?"

"I knew it, you're-"

"What the fuck is going on with you? Why are you coming to me like we're dating?"

"You don't see an issue here?!"

"No, Daniil, obviously _you_ don't see the issue."

Daniil scoffed a bit as he shook his head. "God, Stef-"

"I'm not Stef to you." He retorted. "Should I remind you that you're a married man who should be with his wife right now? Why didn't she come with you?"

"That isn't the point, we can't-"

"No, there is no we! You won't answer my question because you don't even know!" Stefanos was shouting at him now, something he'd never done before. 

No response came from Daniil this time.

"What you need to do is think of your _wife_ and spend the time you're wasting on me with her. That wedding ring means something to her, whether it does to you or not. Get your fucking priorities straight and stop acting like an inconsiderate asshole."

Stefanos wasn't willing to put it lightly or even attempt to be diplomatic. 

This had to stop, and Stef knew Daniil wouldn't be the one to stop it first.

Neither of them wanted to be stuck in that endless loop.

Daniil stared at him, eyes widened and mouth slightly agape; as if at a loss for words. 

"Just-" Stef spoke before cutting himself off, thickly swallowing before shaking his head. "Just leave me alone. Live your life and let me live mine."

The Greek didn't even give him the chance to speak again.

He turned and walked away, not looking at him. 

All Daniil could do was watch him disappear back into the building.

With the slightly chilly breeze gently rushing past him, his eyes fell down to his hands.

The gold of his wedding band was slightly scuffed, but it still shined dimly from the fading light around him.

Somehow, it still shone.

Stef was right.

Daniil didn't see the problem at the time.

_What have I done?_

_Why am I like this?_

He twisted his ring around his finger a few times before hiding his face in his hands. 

_Daria._

_What have I done to you._


	5. Chapter 5

Daniil somehow found the time to go shopping. 

Shopping for a present.

A present for Daria.

Specifically, a gold necklace.

He knew that she'd be surprised but also just a bit annoyed; she loved gold necklaces but owned so many.

She'd told him to stop getting them for her, but he never listened.

She loved every single one of them— too much to get rid of any of them.

Though it hadn't seemed like it at the time, Daniil took what Stef said very seriously. 

As hard as it was, Daniil tried his best to simply forget Stef.

Whenever he'd think of him, he'd force himself to bury that knowledge.

It hurt, a lot, but when he thought of his wife.

His beautiful, intelligent, wonderful wife.

She helped him to forget, even if it were for a millisecond.

He loved her so much, even if he questioned how he'd gotten so lucky in the first place.

Sometimes, he'd ask himself why she bothered with him.

All of these thoughts— most of his existential thoughts in general— tended to come to him in the shower.

Even now, as he stood under the warm, refreshing stream of water, the thought came back.

Two thoughts. 

Daria.

Stefanos.

Daria and Stefanos.

Stefanos looked so much more vivid, so much clearer. Those enchanting amber eyes with the most delicate flutter of his eyelashes.

The smile he'd given him during the Next Gen Finals.

His body reacted— and he hadn't wanted it to— but his hands were quicker than his head.

In a near instant, the water became frigid and Daniil had to force himself not to jolt back in reaction.

Stefanos shouldn't have been on his mind.

He slowly turned the heat back up, silently wishing he was someone else.

The last person he wanted to be was Daniil Medvedev.

How stupid he'd been, he lamented it now.

A heart he'd promised to Daria— till death do they part— now only partially belonged to her.

Daniil hated admitting it. Admitting it meant he had messed up.

Not only had he royally messed up, he regretted not telling Stef how he truly felt.

Implications had been made, but that wasn't enough.

There would be no chance now.

Daniil had to let it go. 

_Don't think about love, don't dwell on what you cannot control._

_Think about Cameron Norrie, because you have to beat him tomorrow._

_Think about Norrie so you can stop thinking about everything else._

_Think about him so you can stop thinking about **him**._

_Better yet._

_Just._

_Stop._

_Thinking._

~~

No one in Stef's family understood why he'd been acting so weird, even before Shanghai.

After his first-round win in Beijing, he'd broken down in tears during the drive back to the hotel.

He didn't say why.

As he laid in bed now, staring up at the ceiling, his mind continued to go back to what he'd said to Daniil.

Stefanos felt like a moron, he was regretting saying what he'd said.

Everything that had happened between them.

None of it should've happened, at all.

It was just as much his own fault as it had been Daniil's.

Now that it was over, now that he didn't have to panic about it, he somehow managed to feel worse than he had before.

Daniil looked so lost when they spoke last.

_Oh god._

He'd fucked up.

Stef didn't need to be so mean, but it was in the heat of the moment.

It had to be said; he only wished he'd worded it better.

Only Wes knew, and he tried to reassure Stef that he'd done the right thing, harsh or not.

The skyscrapers of Shanghai, they illuminated the room.

No lights were on inside his hotel room.

Vague details of the ceiling above him, slight outlines of the furniture.

_Is he even thinking about me?_

Stefanos didn't know the answer to that.

_Does he know that I'm thinking about him?_

He stared into the almost complete darkness surrounding him.

_'You did the right thing, for him and— more importantly— you. Don't beat yourself up over how it happened, just be glad it did.'_

Wes was right, Stef knew that.

That didn't change how he felt _about_ Daniil, though he wasn't even completely sure of how he felt in the first place.

A small frown formed on his lips, he could feel it.

_I fucked up._

_I really, really fucked up._

~~

Norrie, Pospisil, Fognini.

Auger-Aliassime, Hurkacz, Djokovic.

Those were Daniil and Stef's pathway to the semifinals respectively. 

Of course, Stefanos got the spotlight for beating the defending champion and world number one.

Not that he didn't deserve it, he definitely did.

That was just an observation.

His path to the semifinal was, arguably, harder. 

Daniil breezed through his draw, having not dropped a single set. 

Seeing people praising him and hyping him up only served to temporarily distract from his next match.

Now, they were to play each other.

Neither knew what to really expect.

Stef was a nervous wreck the day before, but as he stood in the locker room, having gotten into his match outfit, he didn't feel so anxious anymore.

He wasn't sure why.

Something felt as though it were about to change.

Stefanos didn't think he would win.

That was never something he expected when it came to playing Daniil.

Something, however.

Something was about to change.

Nick had told Stef, _'Now is your time, you're not going to get pushed around anymore.'_

Maybe he was right.

As they stood in the tunnel, leading out to the court, he took in a deep breath.

Daniil's presence was always strong, almost radiating a dark aura each time.

This time was no different. 

Stefanos stood ahead, exiting out to the crowd first. 

Then, Daniil, waving a ghostly white hand to the spectators. 

Surprisingly, Stef was already at the net, waiting for Daniil.

The clock counting down the time to the coin toss was nearly at zero by the time he'd finally arrived.

A quick handshake with the man doing the toss.

He asked Stef which side; to which Stef picked tails.

The coin was tossed, it dropped.

_clink._

Tails.

"Receive." Stef spoke with a short nod before nearly walking off before the picture. 

He remembered just before, going back to pose with the man.

Daniil noticed how Stefanos made an almost too obvious point of avoiding any physical contact.

Then, he backed away— slowly at first— before running off to his end of the court.

The Russian didn't appear bothered, but he was.

Aside from Stef mumbling to himself every seven seconds and making weird hand motions during changeovers, nothing extraordinary happened.

Though, the Greek had been challenging him unlike he had before.

Daniil wasn't sure if it was him being so streaky at times or Stefanos actually making a dent in his game.

So many break points.

Only one of them went to Stef out of five, two out of three for Daniil.

2-4, serving at 30-15.

Stefanos nearly hit Daniil with his overhead.

Daniil stared at him, his face devoid of emotion.

Stefanos didn't even look in his direction.

The rest of the match breezed past.

Daniil came out on top in the end, 7-5.

His expression didn't change in the slightest after he'd hit the winner that sealed the match, only looking over his shoulder at Gilles as he hit the spare ball he had away. 

Gilles stood, clapping his hands as he gave Daniil a very slight nod. 

As the Greek drew nearer to the net, he nodded his head. "Good job."

Stef's words were genuine this time. 

"Thank you," Daniil responded, managing to hide the slight surprise. 

Their hands met, without bitterness and without resentment.

"You did well."

He hadn't planned to say that, but it seemed right at the time. Stef simply flashed him a very brief, tight-lipped smile before giving him one solid pat on the chest. 

Only one.

Then Daniil couldn't see his face. Stefanos had turned away from him and was already shaking hands with the umpire.

It should've been a good feeling— to be relieved of the tension— but it didn't feel good at all. It felt like foreign territory that he didn't want to explore.

Stefanos didn't rush to leave, every motion appearing somewhat languid. 

That had to not matter, Daniil wanted to enjoy his victory while it was still fresh.

He was in the final.

That was reason enough to be happy. Imagining who he could meet in the final also made him somewhat giddy.

~~

Apparently not so calm after all, though his press conference demeanour didn't lend any hints otherwise.

Stef had completely decimated a racquet when he got into the locker room. His mother took it off of him and gave it to a fan on her way to their car.

He got a shower, a change of clothes; Fred broke off a piece of chocolate he'd been eating to give to him.

Nick reaffirmed what he'd said before the match, and Stef truly started believing it. 

The Greek had already been gone for ten minutes by the time Daniil got to the locker room. 

Of course he was.

Having taken out a fresh change of clothes, the Russian unintentionally slammed his locker shut.

"Do you feel there was anything different about playing against Medvedev today as opposed to the last four times you played against him?'"

"Not really, same vibes." The Greek answered, smiling somewhat sheepishly. For a moment, he contemplated going into detail, but he didn't feel like he had to hold back. "Same thing all over again. There's just— there is no lack of surprise. There's nothing, it's the same thing repeated all over again."

A different journalist asked him a somewhat drawn out question, he got slightly confused halfway through.

"How?"

"How is it playing him?" 

"Well," He pursed his lips briefly, glancing down at the table before looking at the man again. "I don't mean to be rude at all— actually— at all, but it's just boring. It's boring. It's so boring that— I don't know."

The all too obvious expressions of satisfaction didn't go unnoticed. 

All of the people in that room wanted a story, and that's exactly what they were getting.

Stef wasn't spiteful in his manner; he'd told himself to not feel anything towards Daniil.

So, in not feeling anything, this was his relief. 

Letting it all go.

"I hate myself, first of all," Stefanos spoke with a laugh. "For putting myself into that kind of situation where I have to play in his own terms and not in my terms."

He went on, leaning over somewhat as he rested his now clasped hands on the tabletop.

Then, he shrugged slightly before the smile returned. "I really don't know. It's another day at the office."

Another long, drawn-out question came, but Stef didn't mind. 

Something about how Daniil was someone he'd be playing a lot, so what did he wish he'd done differently and implement in the future.

Stefanos had felt good that day, and maybe a piece of him expected to win.

It was certain that he wanted it, but usually, he didn't come to expect it.

He did his best to analyse what went wrong.

Mostly, it boiled down to too much technical thinking and stupid mistakes.

Silly, stupid misses.

"I think once I get the first set from him, chances of beating him are getting higher, because he will just keep doing the same thing. He won't change really much."

A hint of confidence finally returned to his words as he sat up a bit straighter.

He'd come to his conclusion.

"For me, in order to beat him, I just need to get the first set. That's it."

Daniil was out of the shower now, pushing his wet hair away from his forehead.

Stefanos was already up and out of the conference room.

Sascha's match would be on soon and Stef didn't want to miss too much of it.

No, Daniil didn't get the same questions about Stef like Stef had gotten about him.

That wouldn't have been as fun.

The Russian appreciated it, in all honesty.

Made his night much less complicated.

~~

According to Gilles, Stefanos had had an interesting press conference, to say the least.

'interesting how??'

'you'll see'

Daniil didn't know what he was talking about.

A quick look at Twitter fixed that.

He only found one tweet that gave him an answer— courtesy of some journalist called Bouchard.

_'Tsitsipas in a smile about how it feels to play vs Medvedev: "It's boring. It's so boring. Same thing again and again and again." Said he's angry to have again played on Daniil's term, but out of the 5 losses now vs him it's the one where he felt th most comfy so win will come.'_

That irritatingly familiar twitch in his left eye made a comeback.

Boring.

Was it his game that was boring or was it him as a person.

He was taking that too personally.

Daniil could've messaged Stef, ask him why he'd said all of that.

That might've made sense, but he didn't do it.

Stef wasn't anything to him.

He had to remind himself of that.

No matter how much that stung— he _didn't_ mean anything to him.

This time, Daniil wouldn't forgive him.

~~

The transcript to his interview was up on the tournament's website, so he read it over breakfast the next morning.

Reading it, in detail, it was annoying him.

He'd thought he would've found some humour in it— but no, there was none to be found.

That was when he realised, he didn't even know who he was meeting in the final.

Instead of watching, he'd gone to bed in a huff.

Turns out, it was Sascha.

Sascha with those deep, red scratches across his neck.

It hadn't fully registered with Daniil when he saw those marks, he didn't think twice initially.

Then he saw a picture of it on Twitter. 

Daniil inspected them as best he could. They looked so similar to the ones Stef had left across his back that night in Basel.

Even now— he could remember how much they stung in the shower that same night.

Those scratches didn't go away for almost two weeks.

He wondered if Stef had given Sascha those marks.

Rationality didn't matter at the time, Daniil simply decided to believe it was Stef's doing.

It hurt more than he'd ever care to admit.

To see the evidence of his moving on right before his eyes.

As much as it hurt, it was also motivating. 

There was no chance that Sascha would have that title now.

If Sascha had Stef, then Daniil could have the title.

Fair is fair.

Turning his phone off and placing it face down, he picked up his cup of orange juice.

He felt certain for the first time in a while.

Fair is fair.

~~

How cold the trophy felt in his hands could've been unpleasant to some.

Not to Daniil.

Victory had a chill to it.

Victory also came with the smallest bouquet of flowers he'd ever seen.

Sascha took it in stride despite the bloodbath of a scoreline, though Daniil couldn't help but find his eyes fixated on the slightly faded scratches.

They were so damn distracting. 

The trophy ceremony was a bit of a blur, it went by so quickly.

Something about how he was one of the best players in the world currently, six finals in a row, et cetera.

He wasn't paying as much attention as he should've been.

Then, it was his turn to speak.

Somehow, and with a neutral expression, Daniil complimented Sascha.

Saying how he hopes he gets back in shape because he, too, is one of the best players in the world.

His fingers tightened around the base of the trophy as he spoke.

Had he been unaware of Sascha's relationship with Stef, he would've been more than happy to throw compliments in his direction.

That wasn't the case, but he could grin and bear it.

Daniil had known Sascha for years— even longer than he'd known Stef. 

Mentioning some members of his team that didn't attend, his parents, his sisters, Daria, the sponsors; Daniil could hardly keep up.

He wanted to get this whole procession over with, get his press conference out of the way so he could celebrate.

Maybe get drunk.

No, he had to catch a flight at one in the morning to get to Moscow.

Getting drunk could wait until he was back in Russia. 

His bags weren't even ready.

Gilles was going to have to help him with that.

Sascha disappeared towards the end, going to his press conference.

It was light-hearted, he wasn't upset at all.

"Making finals of a Masters is huge for me right now, and I'm very happy about that."

There was a question about the positives he'd taken from the tournament.

Beating Roger, making the finals.

Easy.

Beginning a question with _'Stefanos said...'_ didn't fail to make him smile. He knew what he was going to be asked.

How Stef had said Daniil's playing style was boring. 

"That he bored me? No, I think you're trying to win, but Stefanos and Daniil have a weird relationship a little bit. So, I will leave that to them." Sascha responded with a smile plastered on his lips. "I have a very good relationship with Daniil since we're kids, and I'm having a good relationship with Stefanos now since the Laver Cup."

It was a bit intriguing, being someone on the outside looking in, when it came to Daniil and Stef's relationship.

Sascha had heard Stef complain only once of the Russian, and he'd been the slightest bit tipsy at the time.

Though Stef hadn't meant to say anything, he essentially told Sascha what happened in Basel.

That is, he'd said it in a cryptic and somewhat slurred mixture of English and Russian.

They were outside of the bar everyone met up at because Stef needed _'real air.'_

Sascha remembered himself laughing at that, thinking he'd been joking.

Stef laughed as well.

Tipsy or not, he realised what he'd said and the shame came flooding back.

It had been funny, until Sascha came to realise that it wasn't an inside joke or anything.

He was being completely serious.

Sascha got him to explain everything.

Stefanos nearly broke down in tears because of the guilt he still felt.

_'Come on, Stef, it's not like you slept with him.'_

_'But that's what I did— that's the one thing I didn't mean to do.'_

He looked down at the table, seemingly deep in thought before another question came from the silence.

Daniil was finally sat down in the conference room, his shiny, new trophy sat slightly off to the side.

By then, Sascha had completely finished and was probably on his way back to the hotel.

No questions that had anything to do with Stefanos.

Thank God.

He could happily focus on his win, his second Masters' title.

What a lucky guy he was, Daniil Medvedev.

For the first time in days, he didn't want to be someone else.

Today, he was happy to be Daniil Medvedev.

~~


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> here it is, we're at the end now. thanks to all of you for sticking with this story for last two months or so, i hope all of you have enjoyed it! all the best to each of you, thanks again! <3

_'a ferry??'_

_'apparently, they're switching it up this year'_

_'casual clothes?? no tuxedo??'_

_'yeah, no tuxedo'_

_'idk whether to be happy about that or not'_

_'u know who'll be there, right?'_

_'obviously i know, i just'_

**. . .**

_'nevermind.'_

_'i'll meet u there, ok?'_

_'ok'_

When Stefanos heard casual, he took it in every sense of the word.

Sweatpants, trainers, t-shirt, varsity jacket and a puffer coat.

Nick carried his racquet for him as they walked down the pier, heading to the docked ferry that gently bobbed in the cold Thames water.

Sascha and Roger went ahead of him, a few journalists trailing the select eight that had made it to the coveted spot there.

In London.

Rafa, Roger, Novak, Dominic, Sascha, Matteo.

_You forgot someone._

Stef kept himself from rolling his eyes.

And Daniil.

Daniil had played his way all the way up to London after a frankly lacklustre start to the year.

Then, he'd had the six finals in a row.

Good for him.

"Stef."

Nick's voice brought him back to the present, to where he should've been.

"Huh?"

The shorter man handed him his racquet before making a camera gesture at him, causing Stefanos to peek into the ferry entrance. Photographers and journalists that had gotten there earlier stood, dispersed.

Stef shrugged his coat off, then, walking past the people around him before nearly knocking into Sascha— which, in turn, would've caused Sascha to knock into Novak.

"Sorry—"

"You're fine, man." Sascha spoke with a small wave of the hand. "Blair was looking for you."

"Blair?" Stef thought out loud until he turned slightly and saw Blair Henley. "Oh, _that_ Blair."

With that, he shuffled over, going past Daniil without even noticing he was there.

Something about a mission, a few objectives that he had to meet by the end of the ferry ride. They stood there, planning it out.

Selfie with Roger and Rafa.

High-five a fan.

Get your dad to do your interview.

Ask another player for advice.

Get a player to post a selfie to their social media account.

Sing a song of your choice.

Recreate a famous scene from Titanic.

It all seemed easy enough.

They picked to ask another player for advice first.

The first person that came to mind was Sascha, and rushed off to him immediately.

His advice?

"If you lose a match to this guy, don't worry, you still have a chance—" Sascha laughed with a hand on Novak.

"Just play well, man, just play well," Novak smiled and Sascha repeated that, in a show of agreement. "and keep smiling, man!"

"If you're not in a group with him— if you lose to him, you have no chance." Sascha followed up.

Decent advice.

Next step; the selfie with Roger and Rafa.

"Rog— Rog, my challenge is to take a selfie with you and Rafa."

Roger smiled at him very politely. "Oh?"

"Can we pull this off?" Stef joked.

"I'm ready, when you're ready, you come."

Rafa seemed a little bit confused, but Roger told him.

"Oh, for the challenge." The Spaniard spoke as he turned around to face the camera.

One quick snap.

Task two was finished.

Sing a song of your choice.

Stef picked I'm So Excited by The Pointer Sisters.

High-fiving a fan.

He gave Nick a high five.

"High-five a young fan, done!"

"A young enough fan." Blair laughed.

Apostolos had been a little confused by the interview challenge, but he caught on quick enough.

Done.

Everything had been going so smoothly.

Something had to happen, because up to that point, it had been a bit too easy.

Blair stood, looking at her list.

"Okay, so now you have to convince another player to post a selfie with you on their social media."

Stef nodded his head. "Alright, uh..."

He didn't know who to ask at first.

The American looked around for a moment before gesturing her microphone in Daniil's direction. He was the closest person to them.

"How about Daniil?"

Before she even turned to look at Stef again, she felt his glare burning into her.

His face, which had been bright before, darkened somewhat.

That was a death stare.

Blair let out a short, awkward laugh. "Okay, maybe not Daniil."

She turned again to look for someone else, settling instead on Novak.

They took a photo together.

Stef recreated his scene from Titanic, proclaiming himself ‘the king of the world.’

Just like that, the challenge was finished.

ATP Media thanked him, Blair thanked him, he thanked all of them.

Unknown to Stef, his bad luck wasn't about to run out quite yet.

The photoshoot hadn't started yet.

All eight of them stood in the room that led out to the staircase, each waiting for their announcements.

Sascha had his head up in outer space, probably thinking about what he would eat for dinner as Stef and Daniil stood as far apart as they could.

Somehow, they still managed to ‘accidentally’ look at the other at the same time.

Daniil gave him a look.

A look of _'I saw what you did earlier.'_

Stef's shoes suddenly became the most interesting thing in that room as he stared at them.

Daniil was called down shortly after that.

Now, they all were gathered around the trophy from where they stood on the staircase. 

Every time the camera flashed, Stef felt himself becoming dizzy, lightheaded. 

He didn't know what that look was about.

No, it was for how he'd reacted when Blair suggested him. Stef didn't take it as well as he should have.

Fuck.

Daniil saw that. 

Stefanos stood, stiff as a board, trying his best to stop overthinking so much.

It bothered him that Daniil had seen that.

Someone said something about taking the rest of the photo shooting outside, now that they've done their sailing. It would begin the end of media day.

Thank God. Stef just wanted to get away from Daniil, to escape being in an enclosed space with him.

No one else had the first idea of what was going on between the two of them. The atmosphere didn't lend to anything other than neutrality. 

Daniil's eyes, every time they'd unintentionally— or perhaps, not unintentional at all— steal a glace at Stef.

There was anything but neutrality within them.

A warning?

"Stef?" Sascha spoke. "You coming?"

The Greek blinked a few times before quickly nodding. He had no clue what he was agreeing to. "Yeah— sorry, I'm coming."

Sascha appeared slightly sceptical, but was kind enough not to comment. They both stepped down from the staircase and walked out to the deck.

Everyone gathered there again for a group selfie.

A few snaps and now, all of them were going out onto the pier.

Not Stef.

Someone grabbed him by the arm before he could even step off of the ferry, pulling him around the corner.

Not someone.

"We're not doing this." Stef quickly stated as he pulled his arm away from Daniil. He tried to walk away, tried to end it where it shouldn't have even started at all. The Russian wouldn't let him.

"Stef, listen to me," Daniil responded, standing in front of him. He took hold of Stef's arm once again, but not tightly or restrictively. "Please."

Stefanos found himself leaning towards him more than he realised, looking down before turning up to Daniil.

That was his cue, and Daniil took it.

"You kissed me," He started, swallowing thickly. "In 2017. We were in the physiotherapy room and you kissed me." 

Seeing that expression of confusion made Daniil's shift into one of what was most reminiscent of disappointment.

Stef had seen that too often by then.

"You don't remember."

Slowly, Stef shook his head. Daniil's thumb ran over the fabric of his jacket before lifting a hand to cup the side of his face.

"Daniil." 

His words weren't forceful— they were unsure. 

Not even his voice was reliable now.

Daniil couldn't even keep himself from hesitating, their noses brushing against the other.

The sensation, a kiss so soft. 

It reminded Stef of when they'd kissed at the airport in Montreal.

_You don't remember._

_I should remember that._

Stefanos pulled away slightly, his voice once again escaping him.

Managing a small whisper, Stef spoke. "This is wrong." 

Daniil knew it. He let his forehead gently press against the younger man's. 

"Tell me how you feel about me, Stef."

"Don't..." Stef mumbled. "Don't call me that, Daniil." 

"Say it." 

Daniil could tell he didn't want to.

Again, their lips connected, breathy and careless. The all too familiar sensation of a cold, hard wall underneath Stef's back returned.

There was no new taste to find this time, only the essence of raspberry jam Stef had on toast hours earlier. 

In his mind, Stef was screaming, screaming _stop, for fuck's sake just tell him to stop_.

No amount of his internal screaming changed what was happening. 

Between the somewhat broken kisses, Stef caught his breath enough to rush out, "I don't know."

Daniil stopped. 

"I don't know how I feel about you." The Greek said, his breath audible and warm against Daniil's face. 

The look he got wasn't the one he'd expected, like the answer wasn't what he wanted.

Daniil pulled away fully, retracting his hand. 

"You don't know."

Suddenly, Stef's eyes grew cold. "No, I don't."

So much for not caring.

Neither of them knew how to stay away, and that was becoming too obvious. 

"You're such a fucking—"

"A fucking what?" Stefanos retorted, unafraid when he took a step forward and planted a hand on Daniil's chest. One shove and Daniil's back hit the adjacent wall. "A fucking brat? Is that what you're going to call me?"

How quickly the situation had devolved.

It always happened like this.

Daniil was glaring back before he pushed him aside, getting in his face much like Stef just had to him. "That's exactly what you are. You're a fucking brat, Stef."

"I'm not—"

"You're still the same. You've never grown up and you never will."

"I know what you're trying to do."

Though that was true, Stefanos backed up a bit. Both could hear the voices of ATP Media asking where two of their competitors were.

"God, you're just so fucking pathetic.” Daniil spat much more nastily than he intended. “No wonder no one can fucking stand you."

The voices that had been becoming more and more audible suddenly couldn't be heard. Daniil stumbled slightly, holding the side of his own face which was burning now.

Stef's hands were shaking, especially the one that had just struck Daniil.

The strong, painful slap he'd just received knocked a lot more than just sense into him.

"Fuck you. I don't hate you, Daniil. I don't fucking hate you, but you're too fucked up to realise that isn't a bad thing. You thrive off it— off of people _hating_ you."

"Stef—"

"I wish I hated you. I wish I hated you because you're so easy to hate but I can't."

Daniil felt the warmth of his newly acquired injury under his palm, looking at Stef. He meant to get that reaction, but not in that way.

Stef was supposed to hate him, that was their relationship.

A relationship founded on hatred and the most primal desires of man.

Daniii had never so much as genuinely thought about apologising for anything that transpired between them.

Until then.

Stefanos walked away with his eyes behind his hand, going right past the ATP Media coordinator that had been looking for him and Daniil.

He didn't need to say that.

Daniil stared after him before turning to look at the wall.

Walls should not look that soft.

He wanted to bury his knuckles into the wood.

Daniil didn't need to be so mean.

He wondered if Sascha would ever dream to speak to Stef like that.

To intentionally speak to him with such cruelty.

~~

It was his own fault that Stef wouldn't look at him now.

He'd avoided him since then.

Daniil had been practising on centre court when Stef came to practice with Roger.

Holger left the court first, Daniil didn’t manage to gather his belongings quick enough.

Stefanos didn’t even try to go over to the bench he’d been occupying. Rather, he walked around to the other side.

Roger didn't complain or comment, he simply waited for Daniil to finish up. Then, once everything was cleared away, Roger set his bags down. 

Gilles disappeared into the lounge, not waiting up for him. 

As both Stef and Roger quickly got unpacked, racquets now in hand, Daniil lingered.

Courtside, he stood and watched, though he made a point of focusing solely on Roger and the ball.

There were a few fans who sat in for the practice and Daniil could swear he heard one of them talking about him. 

Surely it wasn't that obvious.

_Right?_

Back and forth. 

He didn't see when Stef hit the ball, but he could hear the difference. 

Stefanos didn't even see or acknowledge that Daniil was there. 

One accidental glance. 

Daniil turned his gaze up to look at the stadium lights, before turning and walking away.

Something cold. He needed to splash cold water in his face, get his mind back to where it should be. 

~~

It had been so quiet there, Daniil found that he'd fallen asleep on the couch.

He'd only meant to close his eyes for a few minutes

Then, he heard knocking.

When Daniil heard it, he thought he was dreaming at first.

It wasn't a dream, he quickly realised this but was hesitant to open the door. Hesitant, but did it anyway.

The subdued look in Stef’s eyes caught him off guard.

He opened his mouth slightly to speak, but nothing came out. 

Stef just looked at him.

Finally, Daniil managed to find words. “Listen, Stef—“

But as soon as he did, he was cut off.

Though the kiss was brief, it was enough for Daniil to pull him in and close the door.

_Stop talking._ Stef didn’t need to say it. 

Unlike Basel, the kisses started slow. Daniil held Stef’s face in his hands, feeling his arms loosely around his neck.

Quickly, it deepened, intensified. 

Daniil guided him over to the desk, gently pushing him up until he was sitting on it. 

The last thing Stefanos would get out of Daniil was an apology.

He’d never, ever apologised before and wouldn’t start now.

When Daniil pulled back, pausing for a moment, he saw the withdrawn look again.

Something about it.

Numb.

This was the last place Stef wanted to be but his body didn’t want to listen. He gave in.

Over and over.

Having expected something else, Stef let his eyes close as the Russian leaned in.

A kiss on the forehead.

Stefanos felt his face become warmer than it had been during his practice just ten minutes earlier.

He looked at Daniil with that distant hazy clouding of his amber eyes.

Just before he could speak or question, Daniil silenced him with a short kiss.

Trailing them down his jaw, burying his face into the crook of his neck with Stef’s hand buried in the short tufts of his hair.

Stef wasn’t expecting an apology.

As Daniil let his hand slip beneath the fabric of his shorts, he heard the small hitching in his breath.

He shifted against him. He couldn’t decide if this was truly something that should be happening.

The Russian gently nipped at his neck as he started his motion.

“Daniil...” Stef mumbled, managing to hold back a moan, fingers entangled in his hair. 

Daniil pulled away long enough to look at him, to see the conflict written on his face.

_Let me do this for you._

Stef dropped his hand enough to hold Daniil’s face before pressing his forehead to his. 

“I don’t hate you.” He said, barely above a whisper. “I never could.” 

He could’ve said it then, so Stef knew exactly how he felt. 

Had Daniil been less of the coward he pretended not to be, he would’ve said it.

“I don’t understand you.” Daniil responded, having not stopped his hand for even a moment, feeling Stef’s warm breath quicken against his face. 

Stefanos let out a small whimper and closed his eyes. “Is that bad?”

“No, it’s—“ Daniil started, before biting his lip.

Sascha suddenly came to mind.

_I want you to forget about him._

_He isn’t good enough for you._

“Say my name.” He spoke in a stark tone, disregarding what he was originally going to say. 

“Daniil, fuck—“ Stefanos cut himself off, unable to hold his moans back. He said his name again in a smaller, more hushed voice.

Those submissive whimpers drove Daniil insane.

_I need you to know this is me._

_This is me._

Daniil overtook his lips, quickening and forgetting about the rhythm he’d been building. 

_I wish I hadn’t treated you so poorly._

_I wish you hated me._

Each little cry, every high moan, ‘fuck’ repeated until it became meaningless.

Stef found himself gripping Daniil’s hair and tugging on it with a hand tightening on his shirt. 

Daniil kept a hand on the back of his head to keep him from pulling away. Stef was squirming, the kiss inconsistent.

_Stefanos, I’m so sorry._

_I’m sorry._

An abrupt cry escaped Stef as he came, louder than Daniil had anticipated but he didn’t try to quiet him.

He listened, as if to etch it on his brain.

No. This wasn’t like Basel at all.

How Stef’s chest heaved with each deep intake of air. How they had been so close.

Daniil remembered how Stef wouldn’t even look at him, wouldn’t let him touch him.

This wasn’t the same.

Stefanos didn’t pull away, didn’t turn to look at something else.

He opened his eyes and looked straight at him.

He looked at Daniil.

Stefanos _saw_ him.

Daniil moved his hand, brushing the back of his fingers along his cheek. Stef let him.

He ran the tip of his finger across his bottom lip.

_Sascha isn’t good enough for you._

_I’m..._

Slowly, the Russian felt arms wrap around him. Stef hid his face in Daniil’s shoulder.

They were loose, barely clinging to him. 

_I’m not good enough for you._

Daniil tried to tell himself to say the words, somehow.

_I’m sorry._

God, he couldn’t say it, even with this man in his arms.

This frustrating, amazing, confusing man, who was pulling away now without another word.

Before he could, Daniil pressed one more kiss to his forehead.

Part of him knew it would be his last chance to.

Stef paused as he stared down for a moment before a small, almost imperceptible smile formed on his lips. He lifted his hand— the same hand that had struck him in the face two days before. 

Only this time, it very briefly cupped his cheek, Stef’s thumb brushing along the sharp line of Daniil’s cheekbone.

“I’m sorry.” Stefanos murmured.

_No, it’s not your fault._

Daniil didn’t respond as Stef slid off the desk, his touch going with him as he silently opened the door.

It closed behind him with a small click.

His footsteps disappeared down the hall and behind his own locker room door.

Daniil stood unmoving. 

_I don’t hate you._

_Stef, I could never hate you._

Daniil sank into the desk chair and knocked his forehead against the tabletop.

_Fuck, Stef, how could I ever hate you?_

In his room, Stefanos sat with his back against the door and his face in his hands.

Daniil didn’t know, but he was sobbing.

Daniil was right. He was a fucking idiot.

Still just a stupid, pathetic kid.

Like the clothing in Basel, Stef was ready to throw them away.

No point in hanging onto anything that would make those memories flood back.

Everything looked so blurry through his tears. He hastily stripped before throwing his clothes in a crumpled heap in the corner of the room.

He needed a shower.

He needed to be clean.

There was no chance of that.

In the shower, there’s no way of telling tears from water.

There was no chance he could be clean.

Rubbish cannot be clean.

Stefanos is not clean.

**

_I remember._

_Daniil._

_I remember, now._

Thirty minutes.

That was what Stef got for being early, Fred wasn’t even in the building.

_’will be there soon, stuck downtown’_

Stefanos sat on one of the physio tables, since no one else was in the room.

His phone kept him company during the wait.

Fred really shouldn't have left in the first place, but he wanted something to eat that the venue didn't have.

Then traffic happened.

The door opened and, thinking it was Fred, Stef put his phone down and pulled one of his arms into his sweatshirt.

Until he locked eyes with who walked in.

Immediately, Stef stuck his arm back out of the sleeve, pretending that didn't happen at all.

"Hey." He spoke as casually as possible, picking up his phone again. 

Daniil noticed, but said nothing of it. "Hey." 

Obviously, he'd just gotten back from practice.

He looked exhausted.

"The party was fun, then?" Stef smiled slightly. 

Daniil let out a short laugh. "Do I look that tired?"

Stefanos nodded firmly as he drew a hand to his chest, absentmindedly rubbing his sweatshirt collar between his fingers. "Exhausted."

With a small shrug, Daniil sat on one of the chairs. 

It went quiet between them, Stef finding his eyes fixated on the floor now.

_God, where is Fred?_

This was way too awkward. 

"Did you sleep well?" Daniil's voice broke through, looking over at him.

Stefanos paused, pursing his lips momentarily. "Yeah, I did. Thanks." 

Instead of a verbal response, Daniil simply nodded before getting his phone from his pocket. 

Awkward.

_Awkward._

"Did you?" 

"Huh?"

_Ugh, Stef._

"Sleep— sleep well, I mean." He couldn't speak properly for a second. "Last night, did you sleep well too?"

_Oh no, he's smiling. He thinks I'm an idiot._

_Damn it— I already said he looked tired, how would he have slept well? God, I'm such a moron._

Daniil had his usual, sheepish little smile on his face. "I did, surprisingly. I appreciate you asking." 

Stef didn't know what to say. He was biting his lip nervously, scratching the back of his neck.

Then, he shifted off of the table. 

Fred obviously wouldn't be there any time soon. 

Judging by the slight confusion written across Daniil's features, he didn't know why he was leaving. 

"You okay?"

_Don't do it._

_I know what you're thinking about doing and I'm telling you right now— don't do it._

Stefanos didn't want to listen to his head. 

He stood in place, thinking harder than he meant to about what he was wanting to do. 

Daniil got up from his chair to wave his hand in front of his face.

No thoughts, Stef flat out ignored them then. 

It was hardly a kiss— neither of them had any idea what it was.

A peck?

Contact?

Whatever it might've been, it happened. 

Then, Stef felt his face flush with an embarrassing amount of heat radiating from it. He started apologising but then immediately bolted out of the room, a total mess. 

"Stef—" That was all Daniil could get out before he ran down the hallway and out of earshot. 

He hadn't stopped running until he hid in a room full of boxes and discarded cans of tennis balls. 

There he remained until Fred came to get him twenty minutes later.

**

It was Renaud, again. 

Always Renaud.

As it seemed, the ATP only had three umpires and Renaud was Stef's official babysitter. 

Daniil tried to not think about anything too hard at that moment, lest he break his brain in the process. 

This would be routine, even if Daniil was feeling the fatigue.

Aches, exhaustion, he'd been feeling it since Paris.

The _machine_ was breaking down at a very inopportune time. 

He couldn't pass up the opportunity to play in London.

Tired or not, he'd have his 6-0 lead.

He'd have that lead even if it wrecked the very limbs that continued to somehow hold him upright. 

Daniil was looking over at Renaud now, somewhat annoyed for a reason he wasn't sure of. 

Everything was irritating him.

Everything _but_ Stefanos.

It wasn't evident on his face just how irritated he was.

Stefanos looked so calm, so confident, his head held high like a prince upon a throne.

Looking down on Daniil, as though he were a commoner. 

No, this wasn't how this was supposed to go.

Something felt so different. 

Everything was so different.

Daniil mishit a practice serve because of his distracting mind. If he wouldn't have looked completely insane, he would've screamed at himself to please, for the love of God just _shut up_. 

The warmup ended and Daniil sat down on the bench briefly to get a bite of banana in and some water. 

It was starting.

This match, the one that could be defining, was about to begin. 

Somehow, it started off well.

It didn't stay like that.

Up thirty love on his first service game, then suddenly, it wasn't so.

The match began, but just as soon as it did, Daniil turned to look at the scoreboard.

The scoreboard that said he'd lost. 

6(5)-7 4-6

He'd fucked up, trying to get a play on that smash. 

Daniil glared at Gilles, who didn't look the least bit interested or even phased by the repeated shouts and sarcastic thumbs up.

The Frenchman earned himself another one of those thumbs up as Daniil walked up to the net.

No, this wasn't how it was supposed to happen.

What the _fuck_.

Why was Stef so fucking happy?

He shouted the loudest _pame_ Daniil had ever heard in his life.

It couldn't have been that big of a deal.

The relief on Stef's face hurt. 

Something gave Daniil the impression that Stef wanted to say something.

"You did good." Stefanos spoke, letting their hands clasp together. 

Daniil positioned himself as far away as he could, only giving him the briefest of nods before letting go. 

Shaking the hand of the younger man's apparent babysitter, he didn't wait to gather his bags. 

Stefanos was bouncing all over the place, brimming with excitement and joy. 

Joy from killing the only thing that seemed to hold him back.

It didn't matter now. 

From the court to his room, Daniil didn’t move his line of sight even for one second.

Straight ahead

His eyes stung.

_It doesn't matter._

Daniil held any emotion he felt back, unwilling to let it spill over.

He couldn’t and he wouldn’t.

His racquet bag felt at least twenty kilos heavier than it had that morning. 

Weighing down on his shoulder.

The second he entered his room, the bag dropped to the floor with a heavy thud.

Everything began to appear blurry, then.

Slowly, Daniil sat in the desk chair, looking at himself in the mirror.

How red his eyes looked.

With a short scoff, Daniil held a hand over his eyes. 

How pathetic he looked.

Pathetic people cry.

Daniil wasn’t going to cry.

As he moved his hand away, he saw something white sticking out from behind the fruit basket.

It looked like paper.

Paper that wasn’t there before.

Daniil swallowed thickly, pulling it from behind the basket and unfolding it.

Hotel stationary.

Upon seeing his name scribbled at the top, Daniil knew who wrote it.

_Daniil, I’m sorry things turned out this way. In another life, things will be different. You have so much to lose, and I’m not what will make you happy. You deserve to be happy. If you ever thought, or think, that I’m scared of you— I never was. I’m scared of many things, but you’re not one of them._

_At least I know I wasn’t dreaming, now._

_Σε αγαπώ._

Daniil ignored the tear that managed to escape before dropping onto the note and soaking through. 

Instead of signing his full name, he’d simply wrote in his swirly, neat handwriting.

_Stef._

Followed by what Daniil assumes was a badly drawn maple leaf.

Montréal.

The idea of them being together, just for one night, wanting nothing but to not be alone. 

That was like a dream to him.

Stefanos thought that his mind made that up. 

Now, his tears began to flow heavier, shamelessly. 

_Fuck._

_Son of a bitch._

_That stupid little brat._

The paper crinkled as he held it a bit too tightly. 

Daniil wanted to tear that note up until it became nothing more than unreadable shreds and pretend he'd never read it. 

_Fuck you, Stefanos._

_You brat._

_Fuck you._

He couldn't do it.

The paper laid flat on the tabletop now, unable to bring himself to do anything. 

Daniil hid his face in his hands. 

_Why couldn't he have said this shit to my face?_

He knew what last sentence was. Someone would have to be brain dead not to.

_You're selfish, Stef._

_But I'm not angry._

No attempt to dry his face would work, Daniil knew that. 

_I'm not angry._

_How could I be?_

Daniil let his hands sink into his lap, eyes blankly staring at the only foreign sentence in the note. 

Someone would have to be brain dead not to know what that meant.

Tears had stained the stationary, gluing it to the table, 

Peeling it up, he slowly folded it at the centre crease before putting it back behind the basket. 

He used the fabric of his shirt to soak up the remaining tears on his face. 

Two little knocks sounded against the door. 

"It's open." Daniil lowly spoke, not bothering to see who was entering. 

Silence fell over the room. Finally, Daniil turned. 

Daria stood in the doorway, still with her hand on the doorknob and concern evident on her face

_I'm not angry, Stefanos._

_Not with you._

Daniil's eyes, already reddened, welled up again. 

Without hesitation, she came over and pulled him against her chest. 

His arms wrapped around her as his face became hidden in the shoulder of her black knit sweater.

There was no holding the emotions down, now.

He didn't know what to do. 

_How did I let this happen?_

_Why did you let me do this to her, Stef?_

She stroked his hair, trying her best to soothe him. 

_Damn it, Daria, I should be consoling you._

_If you knew, you wouldn't be able to look at me._

Daniil clung onto her like his life depended on it. 

_I love you._

It nauseated him to think that.

He didn't know who he was directing that to. 

_I love you._

_Stefanos._

_It's you._

Daniil couldn't help letting out a small cry, hearing Daria gently shush him. 

She was repeating 'it's okay.' 

It wasn't.

This was not okay. 

_I love you too._

~~ 

Blue.

Everything was covered in blue confetti. 

Daniil saw the pictures on the newspapers and Instagram. 

He'd stopped dealing with Twitter, he let his agent deal with it. 

How happy Stef looked with that big, shiny trophy in his hands. 

There was no denying that Stef deserved it. 

Every ounce of praise he received, it was warranted. 

Daniil stood in the elevator now, going down to the lobby. The vaguely crinkled note Stef had left for him was in his hand.

A square was cut from the paper. 

When the doors slowly opened, he stepped out and took himself over to the front desk. 

The woman at the front desk looked at him with a small smile. 

"Good morning, can I help you with anything?"

Daniil acknowledged her greeting with a small nod before pausing only momentarily in hesitation. Then, he looked at her. "Do you have a paper shredder?" 

She nodded. "We do." 

"Could you shred this for me?" Daniil asked, holding the paper out to the woman. He tried to talk himself out of doing this, but he didn't have a choice.

That wasn't something he could hold onto. 

"Of course."

With that, she took it from his hand before taking a step back. 

A loud whirring and shredding sound overtook the area before it suddenly ceased. 

He clenched his jaw. 

Just like that.

It was gone. 

"Thank you." 

Daniil managed a slight of a smile before walking back to the elevator, that same nauseous feeling coming back. 

_I'm trying to do the right thing._

_I'm trying._

He was lying to himself.

The doors opened to his floor. 

It only took a few seconds to walk to his room.

The scissors were still on the desk. 

Daniil sat on the bed, leaning back against the headboard now with his wallet in hand. 

Feeling the leather underneath his fingers before he unfolded it, dipping into one of the empty pockets. 

Gently, he pulled a small square of folded paper out.

He unfolded it and let it rest in his palm.

_Σε αγαπώ. -Stef_

Thanks to Yandex translator, he knew what that meant. 

Daniil simply stared at it, as if to silently beg for an answer he'd never receive. 

_Why didn't you just tell me?_

Each letter looked so unique. 

So Stefanos. 

_I wish you would've told me._

_I wish I would've told you._

_I wish..._

What was wishing good for?

He only wished because he could no longer do. 

It was his own fault. 

Daniil silently folded it back up, clutching it within his now closed fist. 

_You said so yourself._

_In another life._

_This is the end, so there's no use in lying to me._

_I love you too._

_I know you can't hear me, but I don't care._

_I love you too._

It was the end. 

Over, done.

Nothing to be done now. 

Daniil let his eyes close as his fist rested against his chest. 

He could still see Stef so vividly. 

How his eyes sparkled so much when he smiled a grin brighter than the sun and the stars combined. 

The feeling of his lips, the way his hands felt when they were pulling on his hair. 

For all but a moment, Stef looked at him the day before. 

He wasn't scared. 

Those eyes that sparkled so much. 

They were full of trust for the first time. 

Stef trusted him. 

Trust was the last thing Daniil felt he deserved. 

_I'm letting you go, Stef._

_I have to for both of us._

All Daniil wanted was to forget that anything had ever happened. 

In his mind, Stef didn't look upset. 

He was smiling, still.

Slowly, Daniil opened his eyes; being met with the ceiling. 

With a small, almost inaudible murmur, Daniil finally managed the one thing he couldn't say before. "I'm sorry, Stef." 

Genuinely. 

A series of small noises escaped past the bathroom door before it opened. 

Daria stepped out, flipping her freshly curled hair behind her back. 

"You ready?" She asked, a smile on her lips as she picked up her handbag from the desk. 

Daniil flashed her a similar smile as he sat up straight. "Only if you are." 

The woman held out her hand for him to take, pulling him up from his spot on the bed. 

When she turned away, Daniil dropped the small piece of paper onto the nightstand before grabbing his jacket from the bench. 

Before they left the room, Daniil stopped to envelop Daria in a hug. 

He pressed a short kiss to her cheek. "I love you, don't forget that, okay?" 

Daniil rarely did that and that translated to her slightly amused look. 

"I'll never forget that, silly." Daria chuckled before leaning up to give him a quick peck. "I love you too." 

A weight felt like it began to slowly lift off of his chest. 

Relief. 

She turned, opening the door and walking out first. 

Only briefly did Daniil remain standing in the doorway. 

One deep breath in through the nose.

Slowly release through the mouth. 

_I love you._

_Both of you._

Daniil gently shut the door behind him. 

_I love you._


End file.
